Poetry

So this happened awhile ago, but I wrote it and saved it on a scrap of paper that I just came across...
The setting: Luna and I are at the BAM Martin Luther King celebration . We are sitting in the auditorium. On the stage is a huge ginormous image of Dr. King that serves as a backdrop for the speakers and musicians. Luna is sitting intently looking at it all, squinting. Finally she says, "Martin Luther King doesn't look like a king mama." I brace myself. Oh no, please don't let some kind of crazy ass f*cked up stuff come out your mouth that you internalized from who knows where, I think. "No?", I ask ever so nonchalantly,"Why not?" "He's not wearing a crown, mama. How come he doesn't have a crown?" Thoughts of creating a Basquiat-inspired crowned Martin flashed before my eyes and I smiled. Or maybe the opening lines to a future spoken word.

"It's not that cold today, mama. Do I have to wear my coat? Can't I just wear my life jacket?" Sure, Luna you can wear the vest.