One Night Stand

So I decided to sue the people in the mall for harassment trying to sell me the nail buffing kits. Harassing me on the sideline with their one line "do you have natural nails?"

I felt like telling that little Grey man, I’m a Jamaican girl from New york state "of course I don't have no goddamn natural nails." But its cool though because I'm understanding of the fact that a hustle comes a dime a dozen but often enough it's a bakers dozen with the lucky number 13 leaning serenly on the back drop screen behind the city skylights and in a crackhead's pocket.

Lemme stop it.

As i cruised around the mall, little cousin in hand, i stumbled across this man, Pablo.

Not normally my type. no attractiveness license. I usually like em dark like a kitchen appliances and with the soul and passion of lets say...mike tyson. but he started to slow down and i searched his eyes to find the game he had in mind.

He signaled a sign to his wrist as his male ego said watch this and he reluctantly asked me the time. He wanted to to know where foot locker was

and i said its over there and I'll walk with you because,

I'm going in the same direction....knowing damn well i had to piss like boxed wine, but this man, this papi was absolutely breathtaking. But despite that shit, but despite that shit, but despite that shit, I could tell he was taking apart my profile as we cruised side by side, admiring my freshly curled rizos and how i flashed my platinum visas and he gave me all the reasons for all his sentimental jesus pieces and he introduced me to his nephews and nieces as we stopped by CVS and he bought me a reese's pieces which made us think of chocolate. Chocolate, he said, is a metaphor for life. For instance all this political drama…look how I can break down obama. I aint never heard no shit like this before. he said,

"Boxes of chocolates, some of the pieces of chocolate running for office. Not the real kinda chocolate persay, its kinda like the grey fluffed up shit you find in a milky way. Not really chocolate, but not really marshmallow. Kind of an in between thang that appeals to all mans across the land. Sort of like a Mounds bar with the velvety reality on the outside, and the corrupt as coconut flackey filling on the inside. And throw in its almond joy counterpart, because of course a good candydit—always gotta have some nuts. "life is like a box of negroes" ya gotta bid high to get the best guy. And the same goes for a box of latinos, just look in the same box as the cream filled negroes."

This dude has me past my limit. This Puerto Rican man also has me over my minutes. We talked about different kinds of weed, and how to warm up the seeds. He admired my African Pride which oddly enough is the name of the perm i use to smooth down my African sides. He said that in a lot of black females, their pride is missing, but as he talked I still stay concerned about my kitchen. I engaged him and he engaged me with heavy conversation for the masses. Worthy of extra credit in classes. It was that nerd type shit worthy of taped of glasses,

Our ryhthm was that of you and me and flowed like viscous poetry and the one day he cheerfully invited me to meet his family. Family? What would they say? If they found out I religious ate curraayy. That I don't have jesus hanging over my bed and That my dad come from yawd and my mother is dread. Shit, I'm a black girl, thats matter of factual, although I'm light skinned, these curls are not natural.

And even though i'm yellow as day, I'm still eligible for micro braids. We can be friends pablo, buts thats all we can do, your mother would think i was too black for you.

Pablo took his olive fingertip and leaned them against my congo lips.

he said

The Africa that you believe is the Africa inside of me, with whips and chains and connected necks approaching ships on wooden decks. I was laying next to you side by side with parched lips and desolate eyes. As we departed from our land, it was me there holding your hand. I witnessed you working in the heat, you rubbed the caluses off my feet. I wept the night that you were raped, and you bore a child by nature's fate. The child you bore turned out to be me destined for the life death. I watched you as my beautiful mother with bails of cotton atop her head.

My beautiful girl can't you see,

we share the same damn history

You're my mother, my sister, my aunt, my daughter

mi madre, mi tia, mi hija y hermana

but this vision of you that stand before me

reminds me of the memory

the one you still exude for all to see

even after all the centuries

of the conquerors brutality
messing with our mentality
the vision of you enjoying the breeze

you standing, not hanging, underneath a tree

with your eyes closed as my queen.

we shared a kiss and went to bed.

like enslaved lovers head to head.

As Latino and Jamaican as we could be.

We were Africa between the sheets.