It is the lamp you love the most
throwing your hips and thrusting
your feet, fingers to the indian
quills quivering to the sky
But I also see your trophies.
Trophies found,
that you worship with a twirl
and a grind.
The winner of perfect attendance
(Robinson Junior High School, 1977)
Perched upon the pedestal
of your outstretched arms
that you circle with high kicks
and raise to the air for the commuters
passing on Kansas Avenue
I notice, my trumpet, that your earphones
are unencumbered by the attachment
to a jack
flailing
