Smoke, house music and
my Dad flashing his badge at the cops when they mosey into the backyard.
The basement a shrine to Sigma’s.
The faces of the founding fathers greeting me every time I
walked down the steps.
Laugther and the smell of charcoal.
Nameless, faceless,
people crowding around the grill like it was their last meal.
Water guns fights
carrying inside the house from grown folks temporarily suspended in childhood.
My little eyes taking
it all in.
My mother locked away
in her room
Back before there were
two families in one house.
Even then, there was
her number on my dogs collar.
I guess it was her dog
too.
I laughed my ass off
when my mom called her phone informing her that
she was a whore.
So strange, that it
became normal.
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