Trickbaby



On the corner of Short con and Long play
sits the neighborhood ponies man
in his pickup van,
waiting to take parlay list deliveries
Feeling leisurely ... not wanting to bounce
on a Cadillac roll,
Trickbaby is out on a stroll
He's looking for a grifter tip
on a hot streak filly,
who runs fast spurred by a mean buggy whip
He takes his numbered ticket buy,
puts it in his lucky left side pocket,
as he holds a rolled, sacred racing form scroll
in his superstitious, money-itching right hand
Trickbaby continues on his daily walk 
heading to the hoop chain ballers park
Once there, he takes a spectator bench asphalt view,
and watch some opening moves 
of the ghetto grandmaster’s playing
on their custom made chessboards
Long retired from the rat-race corporate game,
Trickbaby got laid back, lounging angles
and always charismatic, well-rehearsed dangles
He observes the walking nylon nets
concrete flash bait some guppy fishes,
and he rises to go where he knows
some quick currency streams are gon flow
Trickbaby captain finger signs the seedy hotel scout door man,
who in turn gives him the proper respect nod of his soldier head
Trickbaby is dressed in his natty, blue-grey pork pie hat,
neon black, sharkskin zoot suit
And patent leather penguin spats —  
proper old-school playa shoes
He greets the tall, exotic Illustrated woman at the door,
who extends her psychotropic inked hand
and pierced diamond-studded tongue
Receiving the news of the working crews,
Trickbaby goes up to his penthouse room to rest 
for another night rendezvous, 
at the corner of Long con and Short play
King Gotham bat gon meet some joker night crawlers;
crack open some new grifter plans,
and watch those wannabe trickbabies get the dreamy eyes ...
Seeing visions of tropical beach sands
Trickbaby true knows that a fake trickbaby
only gon start to ghetto grow up one day,
when you take their milk bottle money away
Copyright © | Year Posted 2017

Poem

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Lawless Avatar
November 22, 2017 at 7:32 AM
...in a world unto itself....yet unseen by so many passersby. Freddie, I can smell the heat baking off the old brownstones and the softening asphalt of the inner city.
Michael Avatar
November 22, 2017 at 6:05 AM
Your poems should be documented for history...You tell it like it at the time...really good...Wonderful Freddie...
One Avatar
November 21, 2017 at 1:49 PM
You really know how to tell a story Freddie.. Once again an excellent poem..
Lee Sr. Avatar
November 21, 2017 at 12:40 PM
Feel like I was in a Shaft or SuperFly movie. "Old school playa shoes, zoot suit, penguin spats, wha cha know bout tat my Brother Robinson. Brilliant write old school and ghetto true. Thanks for sharing your great talent ---James
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