Heart of Gold

I never paid much attention to the lyrics then. At eight years old, I adored him as he did me. It was one of those lazy Saturday afternoons when I had nothing to do. My dad was blasting old school R&B in the living room. He called me from my room and told me he was going to teach me how to dance.

Hearts of fire creates love desire. Takes you higher and higher to the place you belong. Hearts of fire creates love desire, higher and higher to your place on the thrown.

We began doing a simple two-step. His hands held mine as we swayed from side-to-side. We were in our own little word.

You will find peace of mind if you look way down in your heart and soul. Don’t hesitate ‘cause the world seems cold. Stay young at heart…

He spun me around and I felt like a princess in a fairy tale. He was my hero, my daddy.

A child is born with a heart of gold. The way of the world turns his heart so cold.

I never paid much attention to the lyrics then. I had a heart of gold and enjoyed my father’s company. Unfortunately, I grew up. My father’s presence sickens me now. He’s a bitter, annoying, old fart of a man but the music still hasn’t lost its touch. It glimmers hope in my spirit that maybe, just maybe, there’s even a small piece of gold still left in me because I wish I could love my father again.

The Man with the Broom

They’re at it again, those blasted kids. It never ends.

All they do is make noise. It always starts in the afternoon. First, comes the music and I use the term loosely. It’s that heavy metal garbage with all the screaming. Whatever happened to jazz? Next, there’s the thumping. They incessantly shuffle around playing those damn video games. I think it’s something called an XBox. It’s either that or they’re looking at that idiot box. These young whippersnappers need to read a book, something to stimulate the mind, or find a job.

I don’t even understand how they afford this place. It’s $2000 a month and the only time they ever leave they come back with these loose women. Then, the moaning commences and that’s worse than the music. That’s when I get the broom. They’re not the only ones that can thump. I always start off low with a little tap, poking away at the side wall. It always gets ignored. They get a little louder. The bed starts creaking and the loose woman starts to moan. I tap louder. I don’t stop but neither do they. It ‘s like a battle in the night.

Tonight, I’ll end it though. It’s 11:23 p.m. and the one they call Popcorn just came back. They’re talking that low, intimate talk. I feel sorry for the poor thing he’s in there wooing. I wonder if she knows he has venereal disease. In a whopping ten minutes, he has her clothes off. “Oooohhh feels so good,” she moans. Here comes the noise. But today I’m not grabbing the broom, but the BB gun. I cock it and “Phew!” There’s one through the wall. “What the hell?” says Popcorn. I cock again and another one flies through. The bed creaking stops. “Is that your neighbor?” says girl. “Fire in the whole!” I cackle. “AAAAHHHH SHIT!!!” screams Popcorn. I bet I’ll never hear a peep from them again.

Dr. Facilier's Bit

Down in New Orleans
Walk the straight and narrow track.
We got magic, good and bad.
If you walk with Jesus, he'll save your soul.

Walk the straight and narrow track.
The women are very pretty.
If you walk with Jesus, he'll save your soul.
But you gotta keep the devil down in the hole.

The women are very pretty.
The men deliver.
You gotta keep the devil down in the hole.
But you ought to do some livin' before you die.

The men deliver.
We got magic, good and bad.
You ought to do some livin' before you die.
Down in New Orleans.

(Taken from The Wire theme song by Tom Waits and Down in New Orleans by Dr. John.)

Wedding Cake In the Middle of the Road

He wasn't there.

I walked down the aisle, into the church, and he wasn't there. The groom's side was completely empty.

He never told me he had doubts about us. He never told me about the talks he had with his mother about me. That monstrous woman refuses to believe that I've changed. I thought he'd forgiven me. I stopped the drugs, the drinking, the cheating, and the baby was his.

The red I saw was not of the roses covering the aisles, nor of the velvet on the seats. I went from being blinded by love, to hatred and anger.

All I could think of was the cake. The cake. It was a beautiful creation. It had three tiers and butter cream frosting. I cut only the first piece, deciding to save it for a year and maybe enjoy a piece of the dream I'd lost then.

I wanted him to have the rest. I brought it to 3672 Ridgefield Drive and dumped it. He can eat it along with a of fresh squeezed milk from his mother's breasts.

On Working Saturday Night Weddings

Remember to clock in. You want to get paid, remember? And keep busy.
Desserts and sauces are messy but I must keep busy. Making coffee and butterflying shrimp are my safe havens. You're quiet, no one bothers you, but you're still busy. Let the others fool with plating the finger sandwiches and crab salad.

I'm still tired form the last wedding yet here they come. They're also 45 minutes late. I hope the coordinator doesn't let them have extra time.

The doorman hears to police sirens. Here they come. There's the "beautiful" bridezilla and the poor bastard attached to her until he opts for divorce or decides to commit suicide.
We clap while the guests complain about how cold it is. They're loud, hungry, obnoxious, bad joke-telling, non-tipping people but I have to accomadate them for tonight. I'm a Cast Member.

Limbo

I'm neither the full or the hungry.
I am the satisfied.

I'm not dingy nor am I the sharpest in wits.
I just get lucky when people think I'm funny.

I am neither jealous of your fortune nor happy for your fame.
I just don't like you.

I am neither the formal nor the casual but I still wear the dress.
I am the mediocre.

I am not paying the bills nor am I feeding the starving children in Africa.
I go to the mall.

I am neither vacationing in Spain, nor in Destin for spring break.
I chill at home and watch those who do.

I am neither the dropout nor the master degree holder.
I am the broke college student.

All Dressed Up In Love

"I look good in love."- Jennifer Hudson

I look good in love.
What color is it? Is it pink or red like Valentine hearts? Does it shine? Does it glow? Does it flow like taffeta? Is it loose-fitting and comfortable? Does it flatter everyone. Does it really hurt to wear? Is it restrictive and binding like a corset? Is it always a gift from others? Or can we give it to ourselves? Do nudists hate or love themselves that much? Can I buy it on sale? May I indulge in the retail therapy they call lust?

I look good in love. Can we accessorize wit ha clutch of a significant other that we hang on to like a Christmas ornament? Does it gloss like the pucker of lipstick? It certainly makes you blush but do you have a strong foundation? Maybe after a long day it can brush me like Mac would. I'll undress when I'm lonely. Or angry. Or sad.