Mr. Africa Poetry Lounge!
In spring years he danced at DeLisa
Saturday nights on State Street, then came
home to entertain her with
legends of his legs so limber
and true they outwitted
smoke threading through sleek sepia
bodies releasing memories
of captivity and defeat.
Wide-eyed, she listened and laughed
and nursed a new baby. Knowing
with his ticket for safekeeping.
She was his cigarette girl
with tray in front, in back
her butt and legs with sexy straight seams.
She'd show him something, one of these
smoky Saturday evenings.
Written by Angela Jackson
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