1 A.M.

I’m waking up at 1 a.m.
I needed to take a piss
Really bad after drinking
Four cans of 16 oz Red Dogs
And the rest of my
Seagram’s Raspberry Twisted Gin.

I wake up to the sounds
Of central AC, and a light
Tremble from the ceiling.

I know it all too well.
In a way,

Apparently, my neighbor upstairs
Was getting her fuck-on. A very
Lovely woman. Very petite
Blond Hispanic woman with three kids.

I’ve waved to her for about
A year-and-a-half. Don’t
Know much about her. Except
She speaks very little English –
If at all,

And until tonight I’ve never
Heard this rhythmic tremble
From her place.

Normally, I would find this
Entertaining. I did with the
Lovely couple that lived there
Before her.

Now I sit with Odysseus rowing
Toward death and despair as The Beast
Keeps us in rhythm with the drum
Of melancholy.

She found herself someone.
The loneliness we’ve both shared
Is no more.

I shed tears of heartbreak
As I move to the couch.

- Roderick Richardson

(added 07.07.08)

The Greatest Gift

She is the Moses
Of my heart.

She parted the
Walls I built
Around my
Heart.

My fortress.
My sanctuary.

My prison.

Ripping it
From me,
And in my
Pain, I
Finally
See
Love, peace.

She gave me
The greatest
Gift one could
Give me.

And like Moses,
She sees the
Promise Land,
But will never
Enter it.

But thanks to
Her someone
Else can.

She wants nothing
In return. I'll respect
That. But I would
Tell her this.

"You're beautiful."

"I love you."

"Goodbye."

- Roderick Richardson

Open Mic

tonight, I mutilated
myself in front
of brothers and
those I felt had
my last name.
i used the blood
as lubrication.
to feel numb
for later.
to escape for a
little while.
and in the back of
my mind hope I
helped spawn a
revolution.

- Roderick Richardson

In Death

My son asked about
You yesterday.

My son’s mind goes
A million miles
A nanosecond.

He asked about you.
You must have made
Quite an impression.

I thought of one day
Going to McDonald’s
Just the three of us.

Right now, I’m listening
To an old CD I was going
To play for you.

There was a club I wanted
To take you to. They’ll have
This kickass band playing
There next week.

I guess I’ll be going by
Myself…if at all.

Those tickets to that concert
Finally came in the mail.
You know the ones
I bought three weeks
Ago?

I don’t know what to
Do with them now.

You see, our bond
Had no illusions of
Forever. Like life
We knew one day
It would end.

But like death, we
Didn’t know when.

So we lived for
The moment. And
We laughed, ate
Danced and fucked
Like there’s
No tomorrow.

But sometimes you
Live for the moment
By looking ahead in
Time.

So here I am. Looking
At the plans I made before
The untimely death of us.

Songs that were gonna be sung,
Food that were gonna be eaten,
Places left unexplored
Mornings left unshared.

And will never be.

And I am now in mourning.

- Roderick Richardson

To Page

I wish I knew you loved
Poetry. Then, people
Could read your screams
For help. Even though
No one bothered to
Listen.

- Roderick Richardson

Grandad and I

I had this dream once.
I was sitting on the porch
Of the shack house I grew
Up in from the country.
 
It was a summer morning.
The dew still coats the
Grass and flowers. The
Morning dove coos away
In song, and the fog creeps
Its way back to the woods
Making room for the sun to
smite us all in a few hours
with the ugly rage of Texas
heat.
 
To the left of me was my
Grandfather, sitting a few
Feet away. Panama Porkpie
Straw hat, plaid shirt, dark
Slacks, and slippers. As he
Lit his first King Edwards
Cigar of the day my grandfather
Slowly turns to me, and he looked
At me square in the eyes and said,
“You know they ain’t gon’ let
No Negro in the White House!”
 
“Dad” (That’s what I called him.)
“Why you say that?”
“Why you even ask me that? You
Know why! That man ain’t got
No business even trying to be
President!”
“I think he got a shot.”
“He’s GONNA get shot!
I thought you had more sense than that.”
“I still think he has a shot.”
“What about Jessie Jackson?”
(I knew he was going to bust out with that.)
 “You thought he had a shot, huh?”
“That was different.”
“Not too much different.”
“So you ain’t gonna vote for him?”
“I’ll vote for him. Anybody is
Better than Bush. He ain’t
No good. Worse than his
Daddy.”
Then, I woke up to NPR
On the radio. And I smile.
It was as though my
Grandfather never left
This world. But there
Was a difference. I
Wasn’t speaking to
Him like his grandson,
But as a man with my
Own views on the
World. And he saw
Me not as his grandson
But as a man.
 
And if the Lord blesses
Me with a long life, I
Hope to have this same
Dream. Only this time
He will see me as his
Friend.

- roderick richardson

She is…

I should fear her.
For she is what
She speaks into
Existence.
The truth.
Still, I’m drawn to
Her. Because though
She hurts during the
Day, at night she
Sets me free.

- Roderick Richardson

Booty Call

I beg of you not to see this as
Love. It’s best for the both of us.
Well, you can if YOU want. Really I
Don’t give a shit. For me it’s plan lust.

I will state that clear.
Why do you think I’m here?

Converse? For what? You know
Why I’m at your home.
And, you know why you
Picked up the phone.

You wanted to fuck.
So do I, but ran outta luck
At the club.

So, at 3 a.m. I’m knocking at you door.
And no, I don’t think of you as a whore.

You’re…more.
Like a sacrifice fly, a free throw, a 53-yard
Field goal. Whatever it takes for my desperate,
Horny ass to score.

You fall for it every week.

I’ll tell you why, cause I
Know what’s up.
You want to fuck.

Unfortunately, for you, it’s for the wrong reason.

You still believe that if you, “Dip it low,” and “Pop,
Pop, pop that thang,” “Back that Azz up.”
And leave no evidence
On your blue dress.
That I’ll decide to stay.

And I might…
but not tonight.
It doesn’t work that way.

When I stick around it’s only
Because I want seconds.
But I’m done for now
And Saturday morning beckons.
So, again I say goodbye.
By the way
Tell my son I said hi.

- roderick richardson

Sunday Night at Cave’s

I didn’t appreciate the place
Until I came here alone
Without the expectation of seeing
Anyone I knew.

Here I sit alone in the corner of
The bar. I laughed to myself. Thinking
I can always create a Loser’s Corner
Anywhere.

And I thought, “This is a poor substitution
For a strip club.” But the female bartenders
Are really cute, and they smile each
Time they hand me a beer. So I still
Get that strip club illusion that the beautiful
Actually care. Plus the beer is cheaper.

I sit back in the corner, while people in
Their designated groups imitate the banging
Head ritual and singing, “U hate me” by
Rammerstein followed by the whitest hop
Hip posing redition of Check the Rhyme
By A Tribe Called Quest. And I
Made a sigh of relief.

Because though I came here by myself,
I’m not alone, so I can sleep well
Tonight.

The cheap beer helps though.

- Roderick Richardson

Not Tonight

Here I sit on my couch,
Legs stretch out on the floor,
Surrounded only by the
Murmurs from tonight’s news,
The air conditioner, and the
Loud music from my neighbors.

It’s Friday night, and my apartment
Complex becomes Deep Ellum.
Hip hop in the next building,
Tejano upstairs, dance and pop
Three doors down.

And here I sit. Guarded by these
Lifeless, white walls, and I can’t
Sleep.

They won’t allow me to sleep.

I can feel them – the walls, sitting
On my chest, and blood rushes to
My head. My temples throb, my
Heart pounds wanting to escape
From me.

And I can’t sleep.
They won’t allow me to sleep.

And I say to myself,
“I don’t want to be alone.
Not tonight.”

But where can I go?
Who do I see?

I would have to face questions
I have no answer to such as
“What’s wrong?” And emotions
I’m afraid exists will pour out
Due to my drunken state.

I would have to talk when I
Don’t feel like saying a word.

And I say to myself,
“I don’t want to be bothered.
Not tonight.”

So I drive. I drive to flee from
Those white, lifeless walls.

And here I sit. On this chair
Legs stretch out to the floor
As a half-naked stranger sits
On my nap grinding to
Reggaeton.

This is costing me $10 a
Song. And though she
Now knows me by name
I know to her, I’m just
A means to an end. A cell
Phone payment, a half-tank
Of gas or a manicure.

But the feel of soft skin and
The smell of baby powder
Is what I need.

Because, I don’t want
To be alone,
And I don’t
Want to be bothered.

Not tonight.

- Roderick Richardson

The Beast, and I

Tonight, like last night, I feel like crying.
I’m empty inside, though one can’t tell.
At times, I do believe that I am dying.
Maybe I’m dead, and this is my Hell.

I’m empty inside, though one can’t tell.
I try to cleanse myself through fasting.
No matter I do, I always seem to fail.
I’m afraid my sadness is everlasting.

I try to cleanse myself through fasting.
In darkness, I have found a friend.
I’m afraid my sadness is everlasting.
In this mindless torture I see no end.

In darkness, I’ve found a friend.
At times I do believe that I am dying.
In this mindless torture I see no end.
Tonight, like last night, I feel like crying.

- roderick richardson

Death of a Beautician

They came from all over the
Neighborhood, piling inside for
One last look.
A final farewell.

Goodbye to the one with the diamond
Smile, and pious soul whose delicate
Hands molded their destinies
The day before they met it.

Prom night.
Graduation day.
That job interview that kicked off
Their careers.
The night at the club where they met
Their husbands.

Or the point in their lives when
Nothing seemed to go right. When
They were about to lose whatever
Kind of hope they were clinging
On to.

And they ran to her.
And their hearts were all screaming
The same thing.

“I just wanna feel beautiful.”

She saw within what they
Couldn’t see in themselves.
She saw them as the queens they are.

Yes, they all came to see
Her, and in exactly the
Way she wanted them to be.

Flawless, from head to toe.

- Roderick Richardson

Sex Addict

It should bring you
A sense of satisfaction
To know that you’re
The drug of
Choice.

That feeling that
Their world revolves
Around you.

That feeling of power.
It’s almost an addiction
In itself. You’d think.

But it’s not.

Because like all
Drug addictions, the
Supply’s not always
There to meet the
The demand.

Then, you become as
Faceless as an aborted
Fetus.

For they don’t see
The drug now.
Only the need.

So, they search everywhere
From the Information
Super Red Light
District down to
Skid row.

And they’ll continue to
Feed that hunger. If
They’re lucky it’ll be
Rock bottom that’ll
Force them to stop.

Death’s not always
Instant when you OD
On sex.
But if he returns
Safe and sound, you’ll
Be happy, but only for
A little while.

Because after all,
You are his drug of
Choice

- Roderick Richardson

At First Sight

You are a jazz masterpiece to me.
With your instruments playing
In different rhythms, tempos
And notes with each step.
Feeding my soul through sight.

Your hips of percussion keep
Me lusting. Snare drum and
Cymbals shake and quiver with
Each thumping of your bass drum
Moving left, right, left, right.

Your legs are the bass lines
Round, thick, holding the piece
Together. Stroking my thoughts,
Teasing with crescendo marches,
Stunning allegro frolics, hypnotic
Bridges wrapping around my ears
As I listen to the climax.

Your breasts sing the chorus
Of brass. Your nipples are
Like mouthpieces. Powerful
Sound blasts through my mentals
Tongue dancing behind soft melody
Living vicariously through peripheral
Vision. Horns lead a bouncing tempo
With precision.

The wind caresses your hair
Like ivory keys playing a scale.
Subtle, but radiant. And I
Listen every morning, but as the
Distance grows, I squint my eyes
To keep the music from fading.

- Roderick Richardson

White Girl

She should have lived a fairy tale
Life, but she grew up being nearly
Perfect in a perfect small Texas town
In the 80s.

Long, blond hair; blue eyes; cute, round
Face with dimples illuminated by a
Shirley Temple smile and a voice as
Mesmerizing as Aphrodite’s’ moans of
Ecstasy.

She was pure and innocent as a fawn
Before her first stance. She should have
Been the obsession of every man who
Could see beyond his arm length.

But you see, being nearly perfect is not
Not good enough.

What should in the way of her status as
Goddess (and it’s a mystery where she got them) was
when she blossomed into womanhood in junior
High, she developed over-portioned, obtuse, child-bearing hips
And thick, muscular, track-star legs.

She was branded with names such as “Wide Load,”
“Fat Ass,” and “Blue Bell.” She walked down the hall each day
to hear “STEP BACK AND GIVE WIDE LOAD SOME ROOM!!” “HEY
BLUE BELL, WHATCHA DOING IN SCHOOL? AIN’TCHA
SUPPOSE TO BE GRAZING IN THE FIELD WITH THE
REST OF YOUR FAMILY?”

It didn’t get any better in high
School. She tried to stand her ground like
The proud, glorious queen she should
Have been.

There were too many
Heather Locklear and Daisy Duke clones
To fend off. Their subjects – zombies risen
By the demi-gods from Hollywood – could not be
Turned. She stopped fighting back and
Accepted her fate

And like a flower that suffered
Long through too many cloudy
Days and dark, winter nights; she
Withered.

That was then.

She went to college. Life outside her hometown
Led to new discoveries. Different faces; different
Races. Different views on what is considered
Beautiful.

First were the blacks,
The athletes, and frat brothers became wolf packs roaming the
Campus tundra for fresh meat, and she was the perfect Black man’s
Trophy wife. Marsha Brady with a big ass.

She turned them all down, and for her troubles was called
“Racist bitch,” because they can’t see the difference between
Prejudice and preference. Their female counterparts (white, black and ghetto) were
Just as vicious, with stares that would weaken the mighty

Atlas. Now, she hears something different as she walks
Down the halls. “She thinks she’s cute. With her fat ass.”

It gets worse.

The zombies were sent a new command via movies by
J-Lo, music videos by Mariah Carrey and later Shakra.
Now she is swarmed by the same type of dogs who looked
At her like a leaper’s scab growing up.
All just salivating for the chance to
Fuck her from behind.

Even the boys back home are saying, “Damn, you’ve changed.
It’s something different about you. I mean, WOW!”
FUCKING IDIOTS!!!
Nothing changed!! She’s the same classy young woman who
Reads Katie Chopin and Emily Dickinson, listens to
Natalie Merchant, loves watching black & white film,
And idolizes Johnny Depp from 21 Jumpstreet to now.

And she sits on the same gluteus
maximus that just a few years ago
they found so repulsive.

It should boggle the mind how we treat body parts
And skin tone as though their name brand clothing
That goes in and out of style with the times.

She’s battered, bruised, scarred and confused. She’s
Seen as nothing more than a slab of walking flesh
Regardless on how one views her backside. She didn’t
Have a chance to love herself.

No one told her she could.
That opportunity was
Taken away.

I wish God would one day anoint me as His messenger, and
Bless me with golden shoes with wings so I could fly her
To heaven, because the Earth was never meant for her, but
We squandered our chance to adore her in her time outside her
Cocoon.

And before I fly back home, I would tell her, “It was never your fault.”

“It was never your fault.”

- Roderick Richardson