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Raw Space


Photograph by Aracelis Diamanis
click to enlarge.

Open Mic

Hoodwinked
by Marcus C. John

This life aint no fairy tale.
There are no kisses from the sun,
or lullabies by the moon at night.
Wrens and blue jays don't sing
a song of redemption around here.
Sirens and profanity are the soundtrack
of my life.

Off to grandma's house to give her
another package of her grown folk
goodies. You would think after years of trippin
she would finally get up. I still remember two years back
when she gave me this red hoody for my ninth birthday.
Its still my favorite. I was high off of life,
but she was just high.

I can see Mr. Lobo pouncing toward me
from a distance. His usual basehead
attire. A dark trench coat, patent leather snakes,
a top hat, and that scraggly beard.
He howls where am I going? but he knows,
the same place he's going. Smooth and charismatic he is.
A real wolf in sheep's clothing.

Arriving at grandma's house I get a sense
of nostalgia. I can still smell the sweet aroma of
cookies and coke in the afternoon. I drop her basket off,
she doesn't even notice I'm there.
She's already reached her happily ever after.
I pass Mr. Lobo and the rest of the pack
on my way out. In a sense,
they're on their way out too.

Seven-story subsidiaries replace oak trees
in my enchanted forest. I throw a prayer
into the sky and hope it reaches heaven. Maybe one
day God will rain down blessings on those around me.
Until then, I keep my red hoody up to shield me from
the big and the bad.

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