The Day He Got It

By | 15 May 2017

Samuel use to tell the girls tings.
Would put his finger in the fellas face
and say, “smell”. A salty sour stink
was on it and sweat and fresh.
He would tell the girls the tings
he would do them, how he would stretch
them open like elastic band, open
their legs like clothes
peg and stick his ting in theirs.
He ain’t studying his learnin’ but
he know how to make a hole
with index and thumb and stick
a finger on the next hand, thick,
into it. He would go on the wall and
show them how he would jouk
it the day he got it.

The day
he got it, the day he beat drums
on the desk when the teacher
stepped out to the office, the day
he shouted “Raaeeeeeee” like a Deejay
and start dancing,
the day Carla come,
pull up her puff-pants under her skirt,
and push-back on Samuel, push
him back-back against the wall, and
give Samuel the sweetness he
was pining after. The boys remember
that salt smell like a blade sliding along
their noses, seeing Samuel
inconsolable and crying against the wall; Carla bamsy
hard and rough against his crotch, like a too
heavily answered prayer.

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