Chasing Utopia by Nikki Giovanni Page B

people.

I GIVE EASILY
    I give
    easily
    because I have
    easily
    taken It’s incredibly
    difficult
    to let people
    give you what you need maybe
    as difficult as
    giving you what you want
    interactions
    with and between
    humans can certainly be
    complicated

PEOPLE WHO LIVE ALONE
    People who live alone
    Fart in cars
    Pick their noses
    Sleep naked
    And never flush
    In the middle of the night
    Most people who live alone
    Are compulsive
    Things have to stay where
    Things were put
    People too
    Like there is no room
    In my heart for change
    Or hamburger that I don’t grind
    Or coffee that drips
    Or tears because
    People who live alone
    Soon learn
    It is all
    right

BEFORE YOU JUMP OFF A BRIDGE OR HANG YOURSELF OR BE UNHAPPY PLEASE CONSIDER: LIVE FOR YOURSELF; THOSE WHO HATE YOU HAVE NO PURCHASE
    I don’t think
    There is
    a      definition
    Â Â Â Â or
    b      definition
    Â Â Â Â but only
    the  definition
    when it comes to who you R
    but then I don’t
    Facebook    or
    Twitter    or
    YouTube    or
    Ask anyone’s permission
    To fuck or not to fuck
    That is not the question
    To love or to be
    Lonely:
    No-brainer
    Who you are
    Is you
    And no one can
    Should
    Or
    Will
    Touch
    that

YOU GAVE HER SOMETHING
    (for Big Nikky)
    You said: My aunt owned
    A building where she rented
    Apartments
    Like Macon Dead’s tenants sometimes
    They couldn’t pay
    Twice over the years the man
    Upstairs gave paintings
    Instead of money
    He said: Will you take this
    Will you take that
    For my staying in
    Your place here on earth
    And she said: Yes
    You said: I visited and loved
    Them both
    My aunt told me the story of the paintings
    They are extraordinary, I said to her
    She said: Take them. I want you to have them
    You carried these paintings
    From coast to coast South to less South
    To the walls of a warm and comforting home
    You said to me: Do you know the painter
    Do you know what they are now worth
    If I had known their worth I would have
    Should have given her something
    For them
    I said: You Did
    You love her You love the paintings
    If that’s not something
    Then I know nothing

THIRST
    At 2:30 or maybe 3:00 A.M. I have tossed
    And turned all I can:
    I’m thirsty
    But if I get up to drink I’ll have to
    Get up again
    To go to the bathroom
    Thirst wins
    Stumbling into my house
    Shoes
    I go to the kitchen
    To find the lemonade
    My mother
    Were she still here
    Would complain:
    You don’t drink enough water.
    Adam’s Ale is the best thing
    But I don’t like water
    I, like most Americans,
    Take my water
    With sugar or fruit juices
    Or any disguise I can find
    Leaning over the sink
    With a bit of real lemonade dripping down
    My chin
    I feel the coolness
    Float into my lungs
    And that blessed relief
    That says Thirst
    Has been satisfied
    Feeling myself once again in bloom
    I smile
    Return to my bed
    And await my next
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Adventure.

THE SCARED AND THE VULNERABLE
    On a foggy night
    With that sort of misty rain
    That is wonderful for sleeping
    But nothing at all for driving
    I traveled home
    From a great dinner party
    We were all so jolly
    Driving my ninety-year-old aunt
    Who was visiting from out of town
    We were catching up on family
    And arguing politics
    I turned up our mountain
    Just as I admonished her:
    But The President hasn’t done anything
    About jobs
    When something said:
    You are going too fast
    It may have been the wine that evening
    But I have to confess:
    I speed a lot
    So I heeded the voice
    My eyes always sweep the Trail
    Leading to my home
    From Side to Side
    There is always a cat
    Or raccoon seldom a coyote and at this hour of
    night the turtles
    And snakes are in bed
    My aunt asked: Why
    Are you hitting your brakes
    When a beautiful white strip
    Surrounded by shiny black fur
    With fear in her eyes
    Got caught in my headlights
    And stopped
    I stopped too
    And