Best Urbanhate Poems
Oh, you’re cool. Deck.
With your battered copy of Naked Lunch
tucked away in your thrift-store
-satchel, it’s definitely a satchel-
that holds your cigarettes,
the ones you bummed last Wednesday,
and the extra scarf you keep with you
at all times
just in case your neck gets cold,
which it seems to often,
even though its brother is always
wrapped loosely around your neck.
That iPod in your hand
with the huge headphones
-for better acoustics-
is playing that band you like,
the one with the synth player
who can also play both
the didgeridoo and keytar
at the same time,
but I don’t think that’s the reason
that they only have five fans
or that that’s why you like them.
It’s okay,
I won’t tell your friends that
you pay your rent with a trust fund.
-Isn’t that ironic?-
I’ll keep your secret
the way you keep quoting Kerouac,
who you only know of
because of high school English class.
And no,
I won’t tell them either
that you hate the taste of coffee,
and miss eating bacon,
and actually think that tattoo
of a Palahniuk quote
-“Your heart is my piñata”-
translated into Finnish
is not as clever as it was
the first time you tried cocaine.
But don’t worry.
I won’t call you a hipster.
That way you don’t have to
pretend to hate it.
This is dedicated to
the uneducated who,
segregate from the greats
the hate gave integration to,
though the paved the way for you,
you just simulate the flu,
infected with cold hearts
like inflammation made it through,
To...
You...
So take a second to converse,
listen to me, then speak,
just make sure you think first,
about the thirst, of the dream,
had by Dr. King, which would
hurt beyond the seams, if he
witnessed everything,
The Scenes!
How we're treating one another,
Educated versus thugs, like
we are not brothers, What's the
point to jump from slavery to
having white lovers, if less racism
means the blacks hate each other?
My Brothers! I have no intent on
hating you, I just hope you make it
through. So this is Dedicated To
You...
I hate this place.
Man, I have to go.
I hate the racism.
I hate the haterism.
I hate not being heard.
I hate Monroe.
Man, I hate the word.
I hate this place.
And that’s a fact.
Once I leave here
I will never look back.
written Summer 2004