WHAT MUST IT BE LIKE
Looking at you from
a slight distance, I readily notice your rich mahogany skin. Smoother than silk
does it encase your flesh. The Nappy Afro that all the sistahs are wearing does
wonders for your eyes. And eyes, those eyes. Eyes that reach beyond the
imagination to see what can't be seen. Eyes that hesitate not to tell their own
story. Eyes that probably have you wondering, “Why are all these men staring at
me?”
Although confident in my own femininity, I can't help but fall envious of
yours. Those ample breasts; full hips; the roundness of your gifted backside. I
quiver at the thought of the lovin' your man must be lovin' you with. Did I
just say lovin'? Lips that you used to hate are those I'd love to have. Unlike
many, I've done my homework, so trust me, I'm well aware of your regal
ancestry. Even in the depths of my past ignorance a certain air about your
treasured ethnicity spoke to this wise. As I stand here I watch you share a
hearty laugh with another, blessed much like yourself, and wish only that I
could be in the number.
Reared in the Pacific Northwest, my spectrum was sadly devoid of color such as
yours. Campus life, however, has fatefully delivered me from such a contrived,
boxed-in perspective. You'd be surprised at how much of the lingo I'm down
with--I mean, know already. And I pay no attention to those who keep telling
me, "You need to stop talking like that!" "You need to stop
talking, period," is what I'll probably end up saying one of these days.
Having paid for and received your called-in order, you and your
sister-girlfriend prepare to leave. If the handsome brother standing next to
you with the shoulder-length braids and killer smile stares at you any harder,
you're gonna burst into flames. Undoubtedly aware of his masculine presence,
you fuel his imagination with a seductive sashay toward the double-glass doors.
If nothing else, you've got to teach me how to walk like that. "Can I take
your order, please?" were the words that broke my trance-like state. Yes!
I'd like to have everything she has, was my mental response. By the way . . .
did I just say “sister-girlfriend”?
The End
Written by Darrell A.
Cador
Mount Rainier, MD