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i tried to notice without noticing.
i tried to fit in by not standing out,
but i knew i was different.
their walls much bigger.
their yards much nicer.

in elementary it seemed everyone
was in the same class: lower class,
but this was junior high across town,
on white burb avenue
and i was poor.
they weren't.
of course i resisted.
i mixed and matched the clothes i had
as if i was a designer preparing
for the new season.

they let me into their world
for a little while.
i hung out in huge basements,
chilled in hot tubs with bikini clad young hotties,
taking part in all the gossip.

until my illusion wavered 
and they slowly pulled back--
as my clothes got holes in them,
as my shoes wore down,
as i grew out of all i had gotten 
that one time my mom took me school shopping.

goodbye, Stephanie Bach.
goodbye, Anne Murry.
goodbye, Lori Larson.

years later i would remember them
at the most inopportune moments--
drunk in a dive bar in Harlem
talking to an ugly girl i was thinking about doing,
in the dirty bathroom of a crack house before i
put the pipe to my lips,
in line at the welfare office.

i think i was bitter for a while,
thinking about how they all probably owned homes
not far from each other and how they would
throw little upscale cocktail parties
around the holidays and kiss each other
on both cheeks when they greeted
but at the same time trying to stay hip by listening
to commercial rap and sexy pop music in their suv's.

yeah, bitter

drunk, and very early in the morning,
i came across a tiny neighborhood jazz bar
where a trio group had their hands 
on the heads of everyone and was shaking them
to the electric sounds of their primitive instruments.
a boxing gym had less bobbing and weaving 
than that jazz bar on the corner of 106th and broadway.
cats were healing up in the place that night.

my head was going ten rounds while my eyes were closed 
when those girls popped up only for a second,
but they didn't fit the scene,
so for the first time, i felt sorry for them
before i forgot about 'em.

later, outside, the sign that said 106th st.
had another one below it that read 
duke ellington boulevard
i stared at it, making room for a new memory.

goodbye, Stephanie Bach.
goodbye, Anne Murry.
goodbye, Lori Larson.
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