A small black boy on the subway,
his knees squeezed tight
between mom's big bag and
Aunt Sheri's new boots,
wants out.
iPod vines sprout from mom's bag
stray over his chest,
dance on his arm but
don't stay, never stay long,
thin arms reaching ever beyond.
Mom is jamming,
Aunt Sheri's stomping,
and the boy is rolling
his eyes, can't wait
for the stop, for it all
to stop, for his song
to play, outside.
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POP!
11 years ago
1 comment:
Took me a while but I figured out what I think about this one.
I think it feels like a cool beginning.
I dig the connection between him being pinned in by the music of his mothers and wanting his own song, his own freedom, but I feel like you're holding back.
Maybe there are some more moments, the way he regards other passengers, the way he regards other subway sounds or reflections that could add something.
That's my two cents.
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