Talking to Ron
Ron spent mornings trying out words,
Texture missing in his personal life.
Routines didn’t matter anymore.
It was the touch that was important,
Recognition of strings, fiber and
A cup of coffee. Comrades didn’t understand.
He was tired of their Let’s Sell an Image shit.
His tissues needed embossing.
He was stepping out of suffocating outlines,
Wearing dashiki, braiding his hair again.
He wanted holograms of Marilyn on his lips.
You see, he was honest about his affection.
But what did it get him, a political conscience,
An eye to eye conversation with God?
I said: Ron calm down, it’s just a phase.
And if it isn’t, get a house on the beach, swim,
Breathe in the salt, pick up this trash,
Go back to school, become an embalmer.
You’re not listening, he said, words enter and exit
Surface I haven’t explored. And he showed me out the door.
© Sergio A. Ortiz, first published in Journal of Truth and Consequence, 2009