This is the assignment where we have to create an alter ego and write a poem from that perspective. I won’t tell ya any much more about the alter ego but the more I look at this, the more details I want to add.
On a quick side note: Next week we have to write a poem about an iconic photograph/art work. Whether the poem sets out to reveal or dispel a “truth” about said image is up to the writer.
God Loves A Liar
I see my pops’ face everywhere I go. Every bum, every tecato, every cop, every priest, anybody who looks like they got a scheme in their eye; I think, “That’s my bastard right there.” The only place I never see the old man is in the mirror, no matter how much folks say I look like him.
Then again, I don’t look much like my mom either, but at least my moms is pure. God bless her, she never sees a hustle in progress. She walks through this life like a tourist watching a building drop, and as folks run every which way and that, she would be the one standing there still, tall as her faith, thinking how clear the sky and how strong the wind, while clutching her santa rosario and mumbling a prayer to the Saint of Falling Bricks sure of her path to Heaven.
I ain’t never had that much God in me. If a building came tumbling down, I’d find the first sucker in sight and offer him a loose cigarette, have him stand in my place and promise him I’d be right back. Then, before it all goes to hell, walk away to a nice safe distance and enjoy the show. That’s all the God I have, one who dropped a son into the world and didn’t even bother to walk away, just set up shop right down the street and saw him go through all the shit of life with nothing but a strong moms and a half-loyal crew.
That’s me, minus the crew, and only my moms’ word that she remembers full well my pops’ face and I don’t look nothing like him.