Gangbanger Baptism, 1992
They are brought forth, the calf promptly fed,
in trays and painted plates of gold,
in their Sunday best, their carpet rolled
for those who snatched dowry, who left them, who fled.
And they anoint their feet holy, then body, then head
and wash clean their robes of red and of blue.
And the sons who are wary, the daughters who knew
the sins of inheritance, the theft of their bread,
sit outcast in meeting place, outcast in the pew
set forth from the baptized, the sorrowed, the few
beset by the forgiven, and the old story told,
sought a grace, and found only dread.
The Gang House Garden Thief’s Love Ballad
For your garden, I will find you hot corner petals.
I will put them in my crown royal bag.
I will search past the weeds—the thickets—the nettles
—search past the Suckas and their impossible tags
and share with you my world in stems and colors
beyond reds and blues (those handkerchief flags).
I will give you my lavenders beyond the hard metals
in 45s, concrete, and faded doo rags
for your love creates me, and love never settles
for environment, so I work. I’ll pick them. I’ll snag.
For your garden, I will find you hot corner petals.
I will put them in my crown royal bag.