Imagine if you will, living in a rent controlled complex.
It’s not hard if you know New York City’s projects.
Now imagine broken elevators leave you climbing a set of steps
and somewhere above you, you hear the troughs of sex.
A chick asks: “You like that papi? You like that?”
Then -PAP!- Is the sound of a butt being slapped?
More moans and grunts from the trick pulling stunts
on the third floor you catch whiffs of a blunt.
A couple smokes weed and chuckles at the sounds of it all—
a sister braiding the hair of a brother about six feet tall.
You nod, “’Sup,” in passing not touching the pissed on walls
then begin to smell trash waft from the fifth floor halls.
Stepping lively, heel to toe, you pace your get-a-way
while your shoes stick on each step of that stairway.
Spilled beer sticks; so does piss, condoms, and crap.
You look down wondering if your Tims are strapped
because you don’t want your laces dragging in that.
You see tobacco leaves from Phillies and vials from crack
then your heart beats faster seeing the next level’s black.
You hear heavy breathing, see a spark, and then turn back;
to go down a flight and around to climb up the other side.
A crack-head lit up on the first stairway to get high.
Now you’re going up the “B” side of the building stairs
but you can still taste the smoke over trash in the air.
These set of steps are cleaner and the bulbs are bright.
Maintenance hit this side before they left for the night.
You pass the seventh floor with just one more flight.
Digging in your pocket, you find your keys and hold them tight.
Now you hear a door open from a higher floor,
then feet tumbling down the stairs in a roar.
You brace yourself for what’s coming your way
and see your neighbor’s face as she says “Hey.”
You’re almost done—home to your place of protection
but your friend’s wellbeing has earned your affection.
So you turn around and walk her down those stairs
because those elevators are in such disrepair.
* * * * *
Remember that you imagined this journey as it began to be told.
Now imagine taking these stairs as a ten year old.
Author notes
Written August 28th, 2006
A contest entry
- poems with impact by know one.
380 points, ended March 6, 2008, 28 entries
Gold trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
1 - 16 of 16
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Don't "Know New York City's projects", never lived in Cleveland's Projects...but most of my adult life, I have worked with young people from the projects here.
Now that I've continued reading this poem Dez, I could have sworn I read it before and commented. Could this have been one of those occasions where you packed your poetry and fled then, returned and reposted? LOL It could be that or just the visuals you've painted with your words took me to this familiar place.
My goodness, the last lines put me on the damn job Dez. I am sitting here taking a hefty sigh. This is the way of the world in the hood. Damn young people have to deal with the real and they are misunderstood.
BRAVO!
Spoken Word at its finest! I love YOU Storyteller!
CONGRATULATIONS ON EARNING THE GOLD CHALICE! This poem is raw and real, worth Platinum!
Always ♥
Renee
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Wow, this is wonderful. It felt like I was actually traveling along the stairway, seeing all of these things. I love the twist at the end of being a ten year old, and that just magnifies things to even greater lengths! Thanks for entering!
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This is wonderfully put together - the flow felt a bit awkward in places... I'm guessing you wrote a bit at a time ... not all at once.
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Yikes ...
isn't life wonderful?
Yes, I can imagine it, but I'd rather not. Life is a bit too nitty gritty for me right now without that.
Seems like you survived it remarkably well in any case.
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wow
amazing insight! -
school me!
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