There is nothing abstract about my expressionism by Sausan Saulat. Courtesy: ArtChowk Gallery
I knew I hated him. I knew they said
people where I’m from are like crabs in a barrel, constantly
pulling each other down. I know his name
isn’t important. I cared
about Shanna, how this girl I had a crush on
pronounced his name so right it could have been said
on the news. This is when I knew she was dating
him and that on top of how he jumped me in the gym
bathroom a month earlier was enough
for me. I knew envy, I knew wrath, how they often go
hand in hand like he and I on the same team
exchanging the relay baton. It didn’t matter when we came
back from our high school’s first regional track meet. These boys
from the neighborhood around the school came for blood. It didn’t matter
how lioness Coach Jordan was, guarding us
like cubs, her loud roar got silently caged
when the jackals aimed that tool
of trigger and lead at her. I couldn’t see it, my limbs
were busy becoming shields protecting the boy I wanted
dead a month before. A rumor I heard
said the limbs on the tree on the side of Timberland boots
used to be used for hangings and I don’t know
how true that is but I watched the tears sway from that boy’s eyes
as an overcast of stomps rained down on us both. I heard
someone say they turned the barrel towards us
but I didn’t see it, I was busy pulling that boy down, underneath
my guard. I lost track, confused
about which one of us
was supposed to be
the crab at this point.
~Â Deonte Osayande
Deonte Osayande is writer from Detroit, Mi. His poems have been published in over a dozen literary journals. He is a two time member of the Detroit National Poetry Slam Team. When not traveling and performing he is a poetry reader for The Adroit Journal and Scissors and Spackle. He also teaches creative writing through Inside Out Detroit and is a Professor of English at Wayne County Community College.
