I remember that you drank your forties cold
In the dead of winter with chill-bitten bones
Toes poking through soles worn and old
We sat in the alley leaned against traffic cones
In the hidden places where the law wouldn’t look
And I offered my thick coat to you when you shook
But you ignored my words, my pleadings forgotten
Said you’d be ashamed to give it back smelling rotten
So we drank and talked as the evening grew old
And I tried not to cry as you drank your forty cold
I remember that you slept in the park across the street
Would perch on the brick wall with widened eye
Clapping calloused hands to the wardrum beat
Of the thronging marches and rebellion cry
We cooked meals at Assemblies that you never would eat
For to the others you always offered your seat
You’d clean up the trash and stack the plates
Always checking the food-line too late
Meeting my protests with a laughing eye
“Just not hungry mijo, I ain’t gonna die.”
I remember that you left with winter
Melted away like ice on the ground
Each morning as the building I would enter
I’d stop, recall you, and glance around
You had gone and I knew not where
But I hoped it was warm, that you were happy there
So when they told me that you had died
Rage stopped my tears and I could not cry
You starved and froze by streets paved with gold
Where we had once shared those forties cold.
Image by Jake Stimpson on Flikr.