My Neighbor Sometimes i see him on my way out He’s a 9 to 5, 5-day-a-week guy and i’m . . . (well, that’s another poem) He’s black, same age as me lived in this house beside mine all his life Doesn’t care about gardening which is what i am most often doing when i see him The roses in his yard were planted by his mother; he pays somebody to cut them back, they flower and flourish
He drives a big car parks it behind my small car tells me of a break-in in our neighborhood He’s up at all hours, looking out his window i’m sure with my non-schedule schedule i have woken him many times as he seems to sleep as badly or as lightly as i do
i have demons in my head vandal clowns ransacking my soul i wake because i fear life may indeed be useless that the earth is doomed and despite popular belief there is nothing else
i am grateful for my quiet, well-groomed neighbor whose roses don’t climb whose car presents a far more tempting target i’m glad he’s my neighbor and that we don’t have to be friends On warm days through his barred window i listen to him play blues on his guitar: it’s a fine sound to live beside
— Larry Crist
Terrorism on the Playground They hung out in the yard with their chests puffed up rocking back and forth, wearing new shoes pressed pants, bright shirts with little emblems where their hearts should be The Bush gang: Big Dick, Rummy, Tenet, Condi & of course W
i was new, i was always new, being new was getting old but that’s how it is when you’re always new You see wide brushstrokes of hierarchy—putzes with money undeserving and fearful, banding together
W said something smart, stupid-smart—wise-assed stupid Something about how i talked? Or my hair? Patches on my faded jeans? i don’t recall only from the way they laughed, i knew i would have to deal
Plus, they were standing in the middle of the four-square court where little Katie Couric, Samantha Power and several others from the fourth grade, wanted to play Condi clearly had it out for these—prissy white bitches, as she called ’em but then who was this Ann Coulter in the leather mini & heels who sidled up along with that fat kid Rush and clung like gauze?
Big Dick was the real muscle and after that crack about my mother i did the only thing i could, surprised him with a swift kick to the nuts Rummy tried to intervene and i caught him with a fist at which point Tenet ran off to rat me out while Condi and Coulter stood in front of W like a pair of little boobies; I guess they were trying to protect him, i can’t think what else to call it
You wait, he said, i’m going to tell my old man I’ll tell my Arab pals! I’ll tell Mr. Reagan and principal Nixon and . . .
Move, you skanks (i said) or i’ll bitch-slap the lot of you They cleared out Katie and Sammy came over and kissed me on the cheek Those fourth grade gals are darn cute
— Larry Crist
My Debut It was some kind of Halloween play i was playing a goblin and my big scene was with the witch who was a few years older and had done this kind of thing before Black, white, good, bad, i can’t recall which kind of witch only that she was a competent actress
i had never seen so many people gathered in one place My face was green, tights and turtleneck, green wearing a green skullcap
My lines failed me The competent witch began feeding me them She said her lines, then lip-synced me mine with many a pause she got me through my big scene like a ventriloquist
Little could i imagine 45 years later i’d still be at it repaying the debt helping others help me over and over as if it were all just one never-ending thing spiraling into footlights blinded by headlights continuing in the spotlight leaving after everyone else is gone leaving the ghost light on to burn through the night for those who began before me
—Larry Crist