Hell's Angel Cake

Hell’s Angel Cake

When I was younger

I had a hunger

for the sweets

of hard streets.

Spent countless hours

learning flowers

sometimes sprout

in concrete’s grooves.

I was drawn to their

no-bullshit attitudes.

Tongues sharp like thorns –

natural defenses forming strong

armor (protection against the

wrongs of snake charmers –

those predisposed

to overpower any flower.)

Fiends always scheming;

plotting to devour

the petals of these ghetto blossoms.

How I reveled when I got one –

in the savvy of her game –

in her tactical maneuvers

through her hostile terrain

that filtered out the losers and the lames.

Proving my significant difference

by not calling her out of her name.

See those “Hey shorty!”

and “Whaddup Ma?” dudes

could never ascertain

the secret that she held

of being an angel in this hell.

Her true identity hidden

behind her shell of wolf’s clothing,

but I chose to see her deeper

than her outward appearance.

Her door knockers and gold teeth were

just running interference –

a diversion for the dawgs

who only saw thick hips at which to paw.

She could tell I saw much more

than the bounty of her drawers

because I spoke to her as such.

So we broke open a Dutch,

switched the contents,

took some puffs to lift us up

over the nonsense.

Shared our dreams and our ambitions

of rising up from our conditions.

I could see that she was digging

having a brotha actually listen

and retain what she was kickin’.

Explored the chambers of her brain.

Opened doors to her heart’s core

and let her passion pour like rain

in our interactions

without judgment or embarrassment.

And just as sweet for me,

was being free to drop my guard

so our spirits could interweave.

It shouldn’t have to be so hard,

but we both came from places

where having your trust misplaced is

a welcome sign for predators

where the adoption of stone faces

is so often ones best first line of defense.

The freedom felt with her

made me feel much less tense,

but much more pleasant to be with.

I discovered her presence was needed.

Oh yes, this woman was needed.

I’m so pleased she was willing to feed this

younger man’s hunger.

- HymnAgen