Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, WHERE I LIVE, by WANDA COLEMAN


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

WHERE I LIVE, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: At the lip of a big black vagina
Last Line: Named black los angeles
Alternate Author Name(s): Coleman-straus, Wanda
Subject(s): Los Angeles; Night Clubs; Violence


at the lip of a big black vagina
birthing nappy-headed pickaninnies every hour on the hour
and soul radio blasting into mindwindow
bullets and blood
see that helicopter up there? like
god's eye looking down on his children
barsandbarsandbarsandbarsandbars
where i live
is the gap filled mouth of polly, the old black woman
up the street whose daughter's from new orleans and who
abandons her every holiday leaving her to wander
up and down the avenue and not even a holiday meal. she
collects the neighborhood trash and begs kindness in
doorways/always in the same browns
purples
and blues of her loneliness - a dress
that never fades or wears thin
where i live
is the juke on the corner - hamburgerfishchilli smells
drawing hungry niggahs off the street and pimpmobiles
cluttering the asphalt parking lot. pool tables in the
back where much gambling and shit take place and
many niggahs fall to the knife of the violent surgeon.
one night me and cowboy were almost killed by a stray
bullet from some renegade low riders and me and
kathy used to go down and drop quarters
and listen to al green, and the dudes would hate
my 'sditty ways and call me a dyke
cause i wouldn't sell pussy
where i live
is the night club working one to six in the morning.
cigarette burn holes in my stockings and wig full of
cigarette smoke. flesh bruised from niggahs pinching my
meat and feeling my thighs, ears full of spit
from whispers and obscene suggestions and mind full of
sleep's spiders building a hazy nest - eyes full of
rainbows looking forward to the day i leave this hell
where i live
avoiding the landlord on the first and fifteenth when he
comes around to collect the rent. i'm four months behind
and wish i had a niggah to take care of me for a change
instead of taking me through changes. this building which
keeps chewing hunks out of the sides of people's cars and
the insane old bitch next door beating on the wall, scaring
the kids and telling me to shut up. every other day she calls
the cops out here and i hope they don't run a make on me
and find all them warrants
where i live
the little gangsters diddy-bop through and pick up
young bitches and flirt with old ones, looking to
snatch somebody's purse or find their way into somebody's
snatch 'cause mama don't want them at home and papa
is a figment and them farms them farms them farms
they call schools. and mudflapped bushy-headed entities
swoop the avenues seeking death
it's the only thrill left
where i live
at the lip of a big black vagina
birthing nappy-headed pickaninnies every hour on the hour
the county is her pimp and she can turn a trick
swifter than any bitch ever graced this earth
she's the baddest piece of ass on the west coast
named black los angeles





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