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Description
For a race long gone (perspective of a man with choices)
By Eric Odum

Mira.
What?
Come here
Go where?
Aqui
See I’ve got a choice right now,
I’m standing on the intersection of here and there and honestly I’m tempted to head over there, see what the darkness got for me, see what it is that they got lining their pockets, see what the pockets are packing on the inside, instant ignorance picked fresh from fields flowing freely with wet water logged legs of failure,
Can’t say I’m not curious, cuties watching me curiously wondering if I’ve got something they desire, but sadly I’ve got nothing but the T-shirt on my back, and these hazel eyes that make contact with their brown one’s and I’m feeling my feet falling heavily, against cement long since stained with hands prints when they were wet, and I’m watching the girls on their shoulders and I can see that their as wet as the cement was, but I’m not concerned with that,
Just take a little,
I don’t know if I’m into that,
You actin’ homo man, you homo, you a punk?
Naw,
Then do it,
I’ve passed the intersection of here and there and now,
I’ve got a choice,
Another one so soon after the one preceding this, choices falling into my lap like tail waiting to be tapped, focus, got choices like notes passed in fourth grade,
Check yes if you like me, check no if you don’t, except now I can’t draw a box saying maybe, gotta be definitive, gotta be set in ways like that cement I mentioned, but my mold is still wet, still impressionable, if I don’t chose right I could have handprints lining my body and I’d be nothing more then a mural of others, other then myself, physically manipulated into a sculpture of mangled mandibles reflecting reflections of refracted light twisted sideways opposite their lean cause they were told coolly slanting their body standing mirror image to their hat, and wrapping their arms around their waist was the definition of what it was to be a Puerto Rican, wife beaters beating their wives and wearing them, got bent wire hangers as keys to cars that they know they can’t keep, ditchin them in ditches seconds after securing their asses in seats not belonging to them,
So, que tu quieres?
What do I want?
Si
I’m not sure, been trying to avoid these stereotypical falls since mom birthed me
10-13
10:26am,
it was Saturday, started the beginning of my life at the end of the week, so I know I’ve got a care free spirit, easy to rest cause I’m a Saturday baby, but I’m ready to start afresh with Sunday, but here…I’m not sure,
Not that complicated Mijo, just do what we tell you, don’t ask questions and you’ll be fine
But what if I’ve got questions—
Forget em,
I want to forget everything be born with different blood, be born with blood that doesn’t automatically put me in a percentile that goes to jail instead of walking free on porches of our own homes, uneducated cause we didn’t go to college, getting scholarships (but not using them) just because we can check Hispanic, just because we can say we’re a minority,
I don’t think that’s gonna work out for me man,
What?
I’m not gonna do it, I wouldn’t feel right, you shouldn’t do it either man, it’s not right, it won’t make you feel right
You not gonna feel anything, pendejo,
The girls are gone from his arms now, running fast, heel-toe in Reeboks, fleeing the scene afraid to see what it was that their papi chulo did when theirs culos turned the other way, I didn’t move, no need to, still thinking of all the things that are about to fall on the head of this man in front of me, afraid that he’s going to be caught up in the stereotypes perpetuated by all, I want to hug him…and I do. I run straight up to the man, cold piece of steel disrupting peace in the steely cold air, I hugged that man, the one who’s pockets were lined with instant ignorance, picked fresh from fields full of water logged legs of failure,
Pop, Pop,
Fire, spreading, hand to stomach, warm, thick, staining, falling, gasping, breathing, blurring vision, gasping, breath short, hard…to…stay…awake.
Release, floating, time replays and I watch myself stand on the corner of here and there, there’s got a light so bright that I can’t help but go towards it, I just wanted to tell you a little story, and give you a little advice…but I forgot what it was

Description
For a race long gone (perspective of a man with choices)
By Eric Odum

Mira.
What?
Come here
Go where?
Aqui
See I’ve got a choice right now,
I’m standing on the intersection of here and there and honestly I’m tempted to head over there, see what the darkness got for me, see what it is that they got lining their pockets, see what the pockets are packing on the inside, instant ignorance picked fresh from fields flowing freely with wet water logged legs of failure,
Can’t say I’m not curious, cuties watching me curiously wondering if I’ve got something they desire, but sadly I’ve got nothing but the T-shirt on my back, and these hazel eyes that make contact with their brown one’s and I’m feeling my feet falling heavily, against cement long since stained with hands prints when they were wet, and I’m watching the girls on their shoulders and I can see that their as wet as the cement was, but I’m not concerned with that,
Just take a little,
I don’t know if I’m into that,
You actin’ homo man, you homo, you a punk?
Naw,
Then do it,
I’ve passed the intersection of here and there and now,
I’ve got a choice,
Another one so soon after the one preceding this, choices falling into my lap like tail waiting to be tapped, focus, got choices like notes passed in fourth grade,
Check yes if you like me, check no if you don’t, except now I can’t draw a box saying maybe, gotta be definitive, gotta be set in ways like that cement I mentioned, but my mold is still wet, still impressionable, if I don’t chose right I could have handprints lining my body and I’d be nothing more then a mural of others, other then myself, physically manipulated into a sculpture of mangled mandibles reflecting reflections of refracted light twisted sideways opposite their lean cause they were told coolly slanting their body standing mirror image to their hat, and wrapping their arms around their waist was the definition of what it was to be a Puerto Rican, wife beaters beating their wives and wearing them, got bent wire hangers as keys to cars that they know they can’t keep, ditchin them in ditches seconds after securing their asses in seats not belonging to them,
So, que tu quieres?
What do I want?
Si
I’m not sure, been trying to avoid these stereotypical falls since mom birthed me
10-13
10:26am,
it was Saturday, started the beginning of my life at the end of the week, so I know I’ve got a care free spirit, easy to rest cause I’m a Saturday baby, but I’m ready to start afresh with Sunday, but here…I’m not sure,
Not that complicated Mijo, just do what we tell you, don’t ask questions and you’ll be fine
But what if I’ve got questions—
Forget em,
I want to forget everything be born with different blood, be born with blood that doesn’t automatically put me in a percentile that goes to jail instead of walking free on porches of our own homes, uneducated cause we didn’t go to college, getting scholarships (but not using them) just because we can check Hispanic, just because we can say we’re a minority,
I don’t think that’s gonna work out for me man,
What?
I’m not gonna do it, I wouldn’t feel right, you shouldn’t do it either man, it’s not right, it won’t make you feel right
You not gonna feel anything, pendejo,
The girls are gone from his arms now, running fast, heel-toe in Reeboks, fleeing the scene afraid to see what it was that their papi chulo did when theirs culos turned the other way, I didn’t move, no need to, still thinking of all the things that are about to fall on the head of this man in front of me, afraid that he’s going to be caught up in the stereotypes perpetuated by all, I want to hug him…and I do. I run straight up to the man, cold piece of steel disrupting peace in the steely cold air, I hugged that man, the one who’s pockets were lined with instant ignorance, picked fresh from fields full of water logged legs of failure,
Pop, Pop,
Fire, spreading, hand to stomach, warm, thick, staining, falling, gasping, breathing, blurring vision, gasping, breath short, hard…to…stay…awake.
Release, floating, time replays and I watch myself stand on the corner of here and there, there’s got a light so bright that I can’t help but go towards it, I just wanted to tell you a little story, and give you a little advice…but I forgot what it was