POETRY: 'Bow Tie Friday' by Trinity

It was a Friday evening

when I went walking

in the early September sun,

being young and free,

letting my hair blow

this way and that,

with my headphones loud

so my hips can swing,

when a young cat

stepped to me and said,

“Excuse me, Sister…”

I thought to myself,

“Sister?

Homie, is trippin’

with nowhere to unpack.”

“Excuse me, Sister,

 I couldn’t help but notice your swagger.

It’s not your style that caught my eye

because it’s rather simple,

but with radiance like yours,

you wouldn’t need any help to stand out.

I was stunned by the confidence in your step.

You don’t have the strides of a goddess,

but you demand respect.

How do I know?

I can tell by the way you cock

your right hip to the side

because you feel that I have crossed the line

somewhere in my dissertation already,

but please rest assure

that I have no intentions of offending you,

not even with titles.

I would never call my chick or even my boo;

there’s so much more in a name,

there’s so much more to you.”

If I had heard anything he said so far

it was that last part,

but I couldn’t let him know that he was on to something.

“Mhmm,” I said.

He chuckled.

“What’s funny?” I asked.

“You’re cute, even when you front.

Sister…”

 I shifted from the right hip to the left.

“Oh, you don’t like that.

I call you sister

because I have some kind of connection with you.

But I’d rather feel this connection

emotionally,

physically…”

He clears his throat…

“…and sexually.”

I know he knows that this conversation

could go one of two ways…

“That would be incest.”

He smirks at me

and I smile back.

I can overlook a little forwardness

from a gentle,

young man,

it just shows he’s willing to take chances,

he speaks his mind,

and he is eloquent.

He said,

“Ooh, and she’s quick witted.

So, can I assume that you’re natural?”

“Natural?”

“Real.

I see the gaze in your chinky eyes,

your high cheek bones rise

when you are truly impressed,

the red undertone

in your almond silk skin

flushes through when you’re flattered,

like now,

and all of that is complimented by

the beautiful curls in YOUR hair,

emphasis on your.

And though black is beautiful,

that isn’t the only ethnicity

that has contributed to such a

pretty face on a pretty frame.

Ooh child,

somebody help a Sister!

I’m not sure

if I’m more impressed by him

or the fact that he dresses with dignity.

I can respect an intelligent,

young black man

who wears a navy blue cardigan

over a solid,

collared,

white shirt.

His jeans are around his waist,

waves on swim,

and his hat tilted to the side.

He was staring at me,

I had my nostrils opened wide

breathing in his cologne

as the wind blew it my way

as if God wanted me

basking in his ambiance.

Couldn’t even vocalize

what I visualized,

he had my body paralyzed

as he smiled at me.

It felt good.

I didn’t know if it should,

by why wouldn’t it

if this brother of the night

was reciting his blues to me

as if my name was Nina?

I don’t mean to sound too cliché,

but I was digging his poetry

like a grave.

“You seem like a half way decent guy,

what’s wrong with you then?”

“What’s wrong is that

I’m only half way decent.” 

I blushed again.

We continued talking

but I’m not sure

what made me hand over my digits.

Was it his smooth,

Mississippi-brown skin

with an evenly blended

beard and goatee?

No, I see that every day.

As I turn to leave I stop and say,

“I never got your name.”

“I know”.

“Soo…

what am I supposed to call you then?”

He gently strokes my chin

with his left fore finger and says,

“Ya man”,

and walks away. 

I’m not sure why,

but that name satisfied me

even more

than his real name would have.

There were so many things

to reminisce over on my way home,

but I couldn’t remember everything

or even his whole face.

The only image

that had been permanently imprinted

was that I met

a  half decent guy

wearing a red bow tie

on a Friday.

*The bolded section is a quote from Destiny's Child - Apple Pie La Mode