Winter in the City: Poems from a Scholarly Club Rat

Dear Readers,

This weekend it was non stop bang bang on the floor, from Osunlade at Cielo to This the Rub at South Paw, with a LES poker game and a Bed Stuy birthday thrown in for good measure.  And can’t forget the brick bike ride and Coney Island run.  The winter is for real here.  Time to get the home nice, and balance out that work with that play.

Keep reading for poems from a scholarly club rat.  To give you a sense of Winter in the City.

im under a fav tree at prospect park

 

*

free b4 11

we talking meat packing

beatles blaze the sky atop the apple store

cielo got the dripping speakers

sound system heaven

free b4 11

osunlade and danny krivit

soul thumping house the spirit

now the line is too long

now im on ear hustle

now we get in with the herbs

now I’m like oh you on so and so’s list

now act the part, bogart

yo me too, hey what’s your name

heard its mad cold in chicago

genie heard the wish

cuz we sho weren’t on that list

fast forward to arms high dancing

rock star prancing

eyes closed romancing

body on heat

drunk chicks in the bathroom

sound so sweet

but I’m glad that’s not me

stomach not fulla poison

rather be pregnant with the beat

I can feel it like sweat in my sheets

we love each other on the floor

makes you wonder why

we don’t love each other more

always

*

head wrap at the club

4 loko and some wine/ a little hennessy fuck this line

its only southpaw/ so me and dude cut our time

but here’s what happens in line/ the black guy in dress shoes

mad cuz he got cut/ wanna talk big loud bout arab money

see he thinks he knows what I am/ wearing hijab not in his American pie plan

now I sear him with the eyes/ now he’s apologizing and I’m on despise

but fuck that dude I’m with the dancer/and we tear them floors from up to down

plus i seen my dudes from outta town

the African cat gonna pinch my ass/ then my dancer dude posts up against my back

someone gives me a high 5/ they think here’s this muslim chick finally getting free oh so live

downstairs it was mad cobra time to have sex vibe

the bouncer bearing witness to the lap dance/ dancer rides dancer

oh santa im vixen im prancer

he got radio raheem boom boxes lining his window sills/books on buddha and krishna on the shelves

he wants me to top him i can tell

I’m not in the mood/to choke a dude

but we aint got there yet/right now we on the couch

downstairs at southpaw

just past them curtain bathrooms and coat check

me a listen, just to hear she knock pon di door

flex

muscles in our legs and like this we unwind

with he I take my time

and have fun

I smile and laugh cuz I know he thinking um

all of us are back upstairs

I wonder is my name still scrawled on the backstage wall

but fuck thinking bout that dude at all

the dj splicing like waterfalls

and we are swimming

flying free like gods and earths

were meant to be

head wrap at the club

and on his couch too

we stay waist up

he like boooo

but that’s my true

I keep it tight and good too

driving home with my plate of food

from the birthday of one of my other dudes

I could keep writing but I just parked the ride

and it’s too cold to be catching up

out here with you outside

out here with

you outside.

*

stay tuned for more,

roopstar

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