I didn't want to go to church.
Not in the summer,
not when I could go to the pool hall.
I lived for the smell of
blue chalk,
the scratch of green felt
grazing my fingertips,
the ball running down the table
into a pocket.
The maid took me to the movies.
She sat in the balcony
with the other blacks.
I drank Coca- Colas.
I was born in the house
by the mill.
They had to get my father from work.
I didn't cry
I didn't breath.
The doctor blew cigarette smoke
into my nose,
my lungs woke.
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