Negro sweet

Poppa’s big brown hands called us
Over and we came running
Gathered round him curious and unsure
Looking out for that wet rag he kept
Tucked in his back pocket
And popped us with
When he caught us off guard

He didn’t say a word
Just stared at us
Til we thought we were in trouble
His liquored eyes looking through us
Remembering something
From a long time ago

A crooked grin broke the tight line of his mouth
And he heaved a great big ol titty of a watermelon
Into the air while we watched
Wide eyed and terrified, holding our breath
Til he dropped it… on purpose

We squealed when it cracked open
Bad as bees, dancing
As poppa bent over with a grunt
Picking up chunks and handing them out
To sticky hands with dirty fingernails

©04.20.2017 ebn