I Love Your Funkified Soul

‘Wanna smoke some hash?’

said the middle-age white man flailing his arms around to the funk and soul rhythms pulsing out of the dj booth.

‘Sure’ I replied.

I look over to my friend and he nods in the kind of the way that gives us the okay to move forward.

We stand outside in the rain,

fuzzing my curly hair

and smoke this mans hash

as he tells of his great love for cactus’s and the news.

We tear up the dance floor

four brown faces in a sea of whiteness and glitter

but we don’t care.

I chase the other half-black boy into the back patio

where we steal kisses and touches in the dark.

I come back out to see your smiling brown face


We laugh in the back seats of sports cars that aren’t ours.

We laugh hard because it feels good.

We laugh hard because we are alive

and time is precious and not easy to come by

in days filled with regimented hours.

But sometimes overcast days

and raindrops

bring the promise of cheap wine, backseat sessions, sidewalk dancing, soft kisses

and the beautiful laughter of others.


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