Mr. Africa Poetry Lounge!


Shit, be careful with that box!

Damn, I guess that's what I get for getting my family to help me rather than help my damn self

Black people so damn fast.....

Ok everything seems cleared out



My memories of us is next

Even though our son will be a daily reminder

Everything looks cleared out

Going through for a thorough search for the third time in a half hour span

Stepping into the room

That overlooked the front of our house

in a bougie Black neighborhood

In a city of foreign spices

and charred everything

Used to be full of life


and pleasant memories

some caught on Kodak film to never be developed

"Oh come on baby, its Sunday nite football."

"Its Sunday nite football everynite."

"Why don't you go downstairs to watch that mushy shit?"

"Fine. If I go downstairs I am taking my television with me so you just going to be shit out luck."

"Oh its like that."

"Yeah its like that since I had to pay the bill this month!"

Midnite Passion.

"Baby did you hear that?"

"Hear what baby. Go back to bed."


"Honey have you seen my lucky white tie? I need to impress a new client today."

"The only white tie that you have which you spilled tomato sauce on and must not have retrieved from the cleaners? Yeah!"


"Must of been a long nite at the office. I thought we were going to play house tonite?"

"New clientele."

A quick shower later

you walked passed me in a Catholic school girls outfit with 2 ponytails

as if I was Nikki Parker and you the professor

Turned your back and proceeded to snore

Mamma told me there would be days like this

But i thought all those days were over

I even threw my ass-et all over you and you ignored me


Thought twice about myself

To see if ever since we got married if I had lost it

I always catered to you and you always loved it

So why now? All of a sudden

You giving me the feeling of having to surpress my own horny ways

To give you a good nites sleep

I guess I would be fuck'n myself tonite with the shower massager

Ring. Ring. Ring. Voicemail. Text message. Fax.

"Baby, my water just broke."

Damn, I made it.

I made it without you in the late nite.

Late nite around the same time we conceived this child.

The last damn time you touched me

"I love you baby."

"I love you baby."


"What do you think about renovating this place?"

"Yeah, I need my own space anyway."


"Wasn't your father suppose to pick you up today?"

I had to leave my job

Dodge my boss

Pause my secretary

To pick up our son from basketball practice

30 minutes away from my office

but 10 from yours


If these window pains could feel

Feel that I am feeling

Then perhaps when you would look out the window

They would interrupt your thoughts of her

And scream at you

the silent cries that i hide in a corner

Another missed dinner

8 hours at the office

helped our son with his homework

if you were around you would know that he has problems in math

you were the good one in math

She must be good to you

Better be gooder than me

She better do everything better than I do

Because you missing dinner

Missing our son growing

I knew you were creeping

around with the blondies in your office

they didn't call you Mr. Dicki for nothing

cause you were dicki-ng everything in a vera wang

It all came together when you rushed to the hospital that nite

the nite i was in labor for 10 hours before you claimed to have gotten my message

no bars on the cell

no reception

i should of figured out then that you were so far in eating your dessert that you didn't get any reception

i used to love your tongue going all the way in back when you loved me

and there was an emotional attachment between us

that nite after you kissed me

i turned to the side

to find a piece of pubic hair on my tongue

you trife son of a nicca

cause your momma was strong

but your daddy was a rollin stone

and now

my tear ducts will no longer allow me to cry

instead i am now rejoicing over moving out of our first home

and into my second another city over

i dont even know if you know

i packed up one box at a time

until our life was packed up

and our life was stacked near that dumpster

so many years

so many times i catered to you

as a Black women

she can not love you

the way that i care for you

it was just that strong

and now

your son will only call you by your first name


Written by Shaneka Bynum


Mr. Africa Poetry Lounge