Uppers

We hung out in Manhattan, the streets mostly.
Times Square with its noise and tinsel was my second home,
until my lovers decided they needed a fix,
and seeing I was clean again, dropped me
like litter in the gutter of Times Square with its Tix and bustle.

Pittsburgh called that day. Pittsburgh,
my good luck charm: Momma wanting me
home for Christmas. Momma telling me,
"C'mon back from the Apple, son.
Ain't no good for you there no more."

The 'Burgh in winter, frigid and gray, welcomed me home,
wearing the necklace from Momma, my Nikes and wig.
I was glad to be home and proud I was clean
and proud of the upper denture they made me last year at the dental school.
"Spruces up your smile like sunshine in winter," said Momma.

Dinner like old times, just Momma and me.
Turkey, sweet potatoes, cranberries and greens.
At mass we sat in the front row, Momma smiling,
and I was smiling too, smiling and proud, and grateful too.
Gratitude comes first, Momma says. She's right. It's true.

And grateful I am: For Momma, the Hill,
the streets that I know, Rose and Kirkpatrick, Caramel Way;
and grateful too for the YMCA, where I headed from Momma's,
thinking of Bingy and me, lovers for years,
dancing and high in the room we shared, way up at the top of the stairs.

But that left me lonely, and wondering too,
how Bingy was doing in his cell at the jail,
serving 3 years for possession. For one gram of speed!
So helpless and mad, I headed for Centre,
maybe walk off my rage, maybe find me an upper, like old times indeed.

But that didn't matter, 'cause it came too fast,
from nowhere, from someone, the brick to my jaw.
And then in the ER when Momma arrived,
I told her, "Momma, they took your necklace,
knocked me dead out, trashed my wig, tore up my ID."

"The brick broke my jaw, Momma. And my brain has a tear,
plus the brick cracked my uppers in two.
"Momma don't talk to me now about gratitude,
how it could have been worse, how I could have died,
like the night they shot Larimer on Centre, a block from the Y."

But Momma can't hear that I'm hurting and mad,
not just 'cause I'm hurting, but the doctors all said,
"One upper is all that you get."
So it’s back to the Apple, check out Times Square,
and see if my old lovers still care that I'm not using no more.