”spit john” works down on san pablo twirlin’ store signs for his aunt pam every saturday. i met him there, smilin’ and such. dancing in his skin. I wanted to blow him a kiss but didn’t know how that might sit with the thousands of lookin’ eyes on that street. So I sent a nod and a smile and he blew a kiss. there was no better delight than what I just had on a saturday on san pablo.
he been on me for weeks about riding by his job. Tellin’ me that he wants to see me, feel my presence. And I get scared of all the folks that’ll watch us. And I get scared cause it means that me and john would be “out” in public. And I get scared cause men get hurt behind those things but john- he don’t care. he’d tell them soon enough to kiss his Black ass. “They just jealous they can’t sing the way we do. But fuck em’ If anyone was to come up to me and say anything about anything id knock em dead. simple as that.” he says to me and I believe. When it’s me and him away from the stories, I hear, I believe him.
So, he blows me kisses in public and reaches for my hand. He doesn’t believe in flowers cause thats all too corny but he will bring me fruit. And I write poems about him. Sometimes sharing sometimes not. Feeling like I did years ago when I was young. Today the sun is shinning for us- begging to be taken and wrapped around our earthly selves like a loving blanket. And my thoughts find him every off and on and I smile to myself. Not because he “makes my life” or anything grand like that but because our relations make me happy. I have a man that makes me smile on occasion. How wonderful is that?