I never really liked Angelou, but upon a cloud of things that go unwanted, sometimes the world takes my shoulders and persuades me to make a few exceptions.

Old Folks Laugh
Maya Angelou

They have spent their
content of simpering,
holding their lips this
and that way, winding
the lines between
their brows. Old folks
allow their bellies to jiggle like slow
tambourines.
The hollers
rise up and spill
over any way they want.
When old folks laugh, they free the world.
They turn slowly, slyly knowing
the best and the worst
of remembering.
Saliva glistens in
the corners of their mouths,
their heads wobble
on brittle necks, but
their laps
are filled with memories.
When old folks laugh, they consider the promise
of dear painless death, and generously
forgive life for happening
to them.

Met with E. to discuss my collection. Was told that I have to write about a dozen poems hot damn. To take my mind off this, I went to the mall with R. to sell some movie tickets. It’s a long story.

They Went Home
Maya Angelou

They went home and told their wives,
that they never once in all their lives,
had they known a girl like me,
But…They went home.
They said my house was licking clean,
no word I spoke was ever mean,
I had an air of mystery,
But…They went home.
My praises were on all mens lips,
they liked my smile, my wit, my hips,
they’d spend one night, or two or three.
But…