Daily Bread.

He walked like hip-hop hip-hop hip-hop. . . . like that.
With a swag that made a beat with each foot tap and
moved the girl to sway and swing her child birth hips
more than she ever knew she could.

He would woo her with his tone.
You see, it was deep and wide and made the
earth creep each time he spoke of truth, or Miss Angelou
or Rwanda and how he cried when he watched it waste.

His skin was a shade of black been kissed by the sun.
From birth, he kept his milk teeth pearl white and his
smile was as bright as his mind. Oh his mind where he lived,
was so vast it knew things before they knew of themselves.
He taught his teachers. They thanked but hated him, named
him “Man of the Year”, twice.

But he was afraid of heights. Not the type where you're in
the sky but when you're up so high full of life that one day
it may all go wrong and STOP. Fall down hard from grace
and lose shape as you lay flat with no air left to fill your head.

His pa died of him self. It was when he was a young boy and
he would not talk of it, she would not ask. He pent it up til a lump
grew in his leg. They took it out, it came back and spread.
So he let no one close to his chest and kept all loves at arms
length as she dream't of them all,
lay still in white beds. . . . .