Way From Ugandan
for D.E.W.

inner-city neighborhood
I know it, it’s my home

good friend
dropping me off,
curious to know:
“What is that smell?”

what is burning
is something burning
wondering

I wasn’t wondering
about me, I know,
anything can happen

at times a little too near
always something
going off, going on

oh it is just the smell
of everyone, at once,
rubbing up against life

not unlike what horses or hogs do
when itching sets in

always itching
always scratching
going on around me

scratching matches
screeching tires
fire crackers

life on and on around me,
until it falls asleep
until it’s early morning
until it slumbers

a poet alone, awake, and asses
passing through at any hour,
music in vehicles booming

in addition, throughout the night
dogs fighting, howling, barking
or overturning garbage

drums go boom, they fall
I holler, “Get! Get!” until they go
when all is quiet and all asleep,
I get to conduct

away from the rub of everyone
making sparks and smoke fly


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
6:41 p.m. 05.01.08