✏️ 59th & Lex

he’s wearing a white beanie, pacing back and forth on those brand new yeezys
got that scattered white and black stitching,
matching his tight jeans with their marled black denim
got that tablet sized Samsung Galaxy
overflowing from his palm as he desperately punches in some number
hiding from the plummeting rain in front of him
cowering in that alcove beneath the N Q R 4 5 6 sign

people rush past
their overcoats wrinkled and splattered with drops that keep
catching the dull light of a day trying to turn dark

homie’s holding his phone to his ear now while he anxiously taps fingers at his side
they’re bitten raw, little nubs of nail left behind
tiny hanging shreds of flesh pulling off the edges – fucking hangnails –
he feels one as it catches on the fabric of his tee
he brings his hand up to his mouth, presses that finger
into the warm blanket of his tongue
sucking away at the small pinpricks of blood flowing up through his angry flesh

she must have finally picked up on the other end
cause now he’s screaming, veins protruding, neck bright red
screaming into the phone like he knows no other way
please please please Sis
don’t fucking do this

all accented with that Boricua tongue of his

he’s stomping those yeezys into the ground, splashing up puddles of murky water
all over his jeans, all over those brand new yeezys
and as he’s begging her to let him get the next flight out to San Juan
his free hand balls up into a fist and
he’s punching himself, punching his arm, punching his chest, punching his thighs
like if he keeps doing it the sky will open up and release a creature of light
flying over with its huge wings outstretched, covering the city with its glowing warmth
reaching all the way to Puerto Rico where she is 

but she hangs up
and he starts up this low groan, deep and throaty like a pig in a slaughterhouse
and it slowly crescendos into a bunch of
broken sobs

he lets his phone fall from his ear, watches it crack on the wet concrete
while he’s looking, he sees those [not so] brand new yeezys of his, real fucked up as they are
he punches the wall behind him – shit’s probably concrete, too
got his fingers disfigured, knuckles now bleeding raw,
got his lips trembling, slicked with snot and spit,
so he sinks to the ground
and punches himself again with his good hand
softly this time
maybe the big bird will still come

people rush past
they ignore him, just another loco talking to himself
but I listen
to the soft Spanish of his sentences, telling how
his little bitch sister just took his mamá off life support.