Excerpt from Tug

YARD TALK: HARD LOVE

Don't be killing no chickens up in my crib
the man says as he hands over the keys
to his apartment in N.E. D.C.

Hard to tell if he's playing so I front
Too late man too late chicken killing's set
for Tuesday Don't think I can change it blood

And we Yo man back and forth We Yo Yo
cause that's how it is between Black men fucking
with each other expressing our hard love

We Yo man back and forth We Yo man
Yo


AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A BLACK MAN

Who has not
On occasion entertained the presence
Of a blackman?
—Raymond Patterson

All the ladies feeling lucky at love
ask me if I like jazz, want to go out
and kick it at some club they know. I nod,
being a man who never disappoints.
Every white man I've known has wanted me
to join his basketball team, softball league
or book-discussion group. They invite me
on week-long, fly-fishing trips to Montana.
One day I might say yes. They think
they admire my superb athletic skills
and my broad education, but it's nothing
more than my color. I am The Black Man
the whole world mythologizes and envies.
I can get cats to march like boot-camp soldiers.
No dog ever dares ignore what I say—
sit up, fetch, play dead—the whole fucking routine.
Even New York roaches know how to behave,
scurrying and hiding when I say, Scat!
I'm big and too damn powerful. The boss
on the job gulps hard and fast while I piss
into the cracked urinal. His hand shakes
as he follows me out, making small talk.
I will appear in his dreams 'til he's dead.
Black brothers, too, hurt themselves to get near me,
like crabs trying to climb out of a bucket.
The Latinos up in Harlem yell, Jesus!
when they see me. They fall down on their knees.
Am I the Messiah? Might be. Might be.
Koreans behind fruit stands bow their heads,
treating me like Buddha. That's alright. Let 'em.
My father wants us to be better friends
as if father and son weren't close enough.
My mother loves me more now than before,
since I grew up and became a Black man.
I'm twenty-three, and I'm king of this world.
Everyone fears and worships me. I know
I'm the motherfucking object of envy.
I'm the be-all and end-all of this world.

JOB

The Lord let me know early in the day
trouble was coming when He sent a woman
toward me in a tight dress, snapping gum
and working her hips hard. He turned her head
to the right just as I moved close enough
to say hello. She wasn't all that fine,
but I sure could have used a different start
to my day. Seven A.M. and no love.

The Lord followed up fast with a black man
in a red, double-breasted suit and shoes
with monkstraps. Their high shine sent the sunlight
straight into my eyes, blinding me. The dog
patrolling the front yard where I passed them
tried to run me away from his fence, snarling.
I stared at God's signs. Here's what you can't have:
A regular woman, nice clothes, peace.
My hand in my pocket fingering change.

Copyright 1999 by G.E. Patterson. All rights reserved.