Shoulders Are For Emergencies Only
Talk to me, Poem . . . I’m all alone . . . Nobody understands what
I’m saying . . .
Have you been in jail, Poem . . . A lot of poems go to jail . . . like
a lot of women who get tired of no-good men . . . Do-no-good-
poems beat up on people . . . Do-no-good-poems say I’m sorry the
next day . . .
I know poems get lost . . . because they’re always being found . . .
There are Wanted posters . . . milk bottles . . . and lonesome
guitars in the night . . . looking for a poem to take home . . .
I know poems get neglected . . . just like doo-wop singing on the
back porch and the deacons opening church with Leaning on the
Everlasting Arms . . . people forget what got them over . . . what
saved them
What are your plans, Poem . . . Give it up . . . I hear you’re a rap
star now . . . going for the Grammy and the gold . . . everybody
singing your praises . . .Do you ever miss your home . . .
The sign on I-81 says: Shoulders Are For Emergencies Only . . .
Ride me, Poem . . . I think I’ve got the blues . . .
by Nikki Giovanni
from Quilting the Black-Eyed Pea
Harper Perennial, 2002
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