Poetfolio

Friday, November 7, 2014

Homer

I spat out blood violently in front of two cops.

They called an ambulance: ETA in 9 minutes. Officer Gonzales of the 41 Precinct and FDNY medics asked the same question: Have I been to West Africa lately?

I wish.

I’ll do anything to get out of The South Bronx.

I always wanted to travel Earth and beyond.

Oxygen mask on as sirens wailed in rain.

Oh my! How exciting! An adventure!

I spent 10 hours on a bed at Lincoln Hospital.

I saw young and old crowded in ER. They all were like children afraid of the dark.

I thanked every professional for his or her service.

I thanked God like a little boy saved from lions.

Ulcer, blood pressure too high and a violent reaction to Advil were the reasons I was spitting blood like an actor screaming in agony in Alien and gory sequels galore.

I humbly ate two hamburgers at Mickey D. They tasted so good without extra salt.

I drank pineapple juice. I walked home past a park under stars and saw new country.

I saw The Wonder Years go on forever for future generations.

Truthfully, I’m dying for salty fried chicken wings.

And hot sauce hotter than Hell.

It would taste so sweet.

It would be Heaven.

Monday, October 27, 2014

The African-American kids upstairs began their usual stampede at 6 AM on 10/27/14.

On Father’s Day, I woke up to find myself in the kitchen walking on water like Jesus on Television. They left the faucet running again. Again, I empty pots and wait for the Dominican super to show up to knock and bang on the door upstairs until it reveals a bleary-eyed black woman Welfare had taken out of homeless shelter with her kids and into building my disabled mother has lived in since Watergate Scandal of the 1970s.

Calmly and with consideration to the black woman’s problems, I asked again for a reduction on noise pollution. No apology was offered as she closed the door with her last words: I forgot to close the faucet.

The super once caught her husband smoke marijuana in the hallway of graffiti that grew like toxic mold on bathroom walls. He disrespected the super as he did me when I talked to his blood-shot eyes about respecting my mother’s rights as a tenant. I feared if I made a call to 311 he might retaliate by hurting or killing my mother.

No matter how patiently I addressed a jobless black man he kept pulling the pin on the grenade of confrontation to make himself feel like a man with power.

Swastikas cannot be made without black and white.

Again, I pleaded for mercy on behalf of my mother who has several appointments at Lincoln Hospital after an examination for breast Cancer. I saw in his eyes Apartheid appear like a possible case of Ebola in a 5-year old in The Bronx.

What happens to his children in this poorly designed anti-poverty program?

Do the kids become another crop of criminals to be harvested by bullets and illegal chokeholds? Across the river from this homeless shelter of a neighborhood is the halfway house called Riker’s Island Prison. Across this homeless shelter is a funeral home. There is higher education up the block called The Public Library.

Read three ways to leave The City of Illegal Guns and Roses.

I know the road to hell is paved with many good intentions but it would be a good try to get the mayor’s wife to give counseling to that family in The South Bronx of America.

This would be Pre-K homework far from finished

Welcome to The United Selfies of Admerica

Art Design & Text By Daniel Angel Aponte

Friday, October 24, 2014

Welcome to the jungle of corporate thieves and my version of Tron.

Please enjoy our feature presentation.

Wednesday, October 22, 2014

I seriously need a government grant to waste Time/Space!!!

When I was a child who wandered in the shadows of burnt out buildings in The South Bronx, I wanted to be The Doctor, last of the Time Lords, thanks to a ‘cultural wasteland’ called Television, home to Death Valley Days starring a cowboy who rode into our wasteland of a town in his real life role as President of The United States of America.

Just say no, urged The First Lady on TV, my first drug of choice.

I tuned in, dropped out and went where no man one has ever…

To Be Continued

Art Design & Text By Daniel Angel Aponte

Copyrighted 2014

Friday, October 17, 2014

You read me?

I died and went to Google Heaven at The Public Library

And now to get revenge by dreaming well