a street’s presence
how heavy is the night sky?
I asked my mother.
Its slumber amongst my shoulders
grew as my curiosity did,
my idol’s frame can’t bare the weight in which
I’ve been enslaved.
My reflections confined to highlight reels on ESPN…
How fast can you run, how high can you jump?
Our wit measured by the neighborhoods we survive
and the stray lead that buries itself into the unfortunate.
Survival is dressed as addiction or the sale of such.
Grandma clings to her bible—
close as a transient and the bite of whisky
that dances atop his aura.
Me, I wear a super suit.
I clothe myself in masculinity in hopes of it
being bullet proof despite all those that have been slain
and are now buried with the same optimism.
My hero’s don’t die, they get wished back
after a couple of Sayians conjure up all of the dragon balls.
The ones that look like me
will be immortalized
by the gold blazers they’ve earned
from a once prejudice entity.
Their thank you’s drenched in salt water.
They thanked god but meant football,
without it they’d be like my Father or theirs;
a street’s presence.
~*~
Davon Hogan is from Denver, Colorado and is a Creative Writing Major and Mass Communications Minor (Film) at Adams State University in Alamosa. His writing focuses on the life he has lived as an African-American male in America. Writing, reading, and cameras saved his life and he wants to share that with the world through creativity.
Featured image by Yeshi Kangrang
