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my own dreams
vaporize.
Don’t Get Me Wrong
I do understand my parents wanting only
the best for me.
Am one hundred percent tuned to the concept
that life is a hell of a lot more enjoyable
fun with a fast-
flowing stream of money carrying you
along. I like driving a pricey car, wearing
clothes that feel
like they want to be next to my skin.
I love not having to be a living, breathing
stereotype because
of my color. Anytime I happen to think
about it, I am grateful to my grandparents
for their vision.
Grateful to my mom for her smarts,
to my father for his bald ambition,
and, yes, greed.
Not to mention unreal intuition.
My Grandfather
Andre Marcus Kane Sr. embraced
the color of his skin,
refused to let it straitjacket
him. He grew up in the urban
California nightmare
called Oakland, with its rutted
asphalt and crumbling cement
and frozen dreams,
