Through the Inner City to the Suburbs

Secured by sooted windows And amazement, it is Delicious. Frosting filched From a company cake. People. Black and fast. Scattered Watermelon seeds on A summer street. Grinning in Ritual, sassy in pomp. From a slow-moving train They are precious. Stolen gems Unsaleable and dear. Those Dusky undulations sweat of forest Nights, damp dancing, the juicy Secrets of black thighs. Images framed picture perfect Do not move beyond the window Siding. Strong delectation: Dirty stories in changing rooms Accompany the slap of wet towels and Toilet seats. Poli-talk of politician Parents: “They need shoes and Cooze and a private Warm latrine. I had a colored Mammy …” The train, bound for green lawns Double garages and sullen women In dreaded homes, settles down On its habit track. Leaving The dark figures dancing And grinning. Still Grinning.