Poems by Diane Dawson

Diane Dawson NY state of mind

New York, New York, a helluva town, The Bronx is up and the Battery’s down. The cops will kick your ass all over the town. Do you think you’ll make it to work on time? I don’t think so—there is no #2 or #3 service at this time. Let me see some I.D., why are you in this neighborhood when you know you shouldn’t be? Damn I gotta pee, think I’ll run into Micky D’s— What you mean I have to be a customer to use your facilities!? I’m in a rush, maybe I’ll take a cab, $2.50 just to sit down Shit, I think I’ll take the bus. I think I’ll go to the park and write some poetry—dammit, there’s no place to sit in this society. Every time I go to an event, I think I’ll be the fi rst in line—dammit, there’s a million muthafuckas in line. I’m never alone in this city, I could be in Chinatown or up in Riverside— I can’t seem to get away from These people, no matter how hard I try. I will be a Native New Yorker until the day I die. Diane Dawson

This is a poem about my life

This is a poem about my life— Railroad tracks & Crackerjack boxes, playing in empty lots, jumping up & down on urine-soaked mattresses

This is a poem about my life— Head of the class in elementary, only black family on the block, fighting every day to protect my baby brother

This is a poem about my life— Very popular in Junior High, I was no one without my gang, smoking pot & harmonizing in the 5th floor bathroom

This is a poem about my life— One hour a day is when I saw the inside of High School, drinking wine from a brown paper bag on the corner in the dead of winter—too cool! This is a poem about my life— Working 9-to-5 every day, no vacation, smoking cocaine-laced cigarettes on my break to keep me awake, moving from one job to the next

This is a poem about my life— Knight in shining armor arrives, fully loaded with the AIDS virus, strikes me down with his mighty sword & leaves me to die

This is a poem about my life— Have crack pipe, will travel, unprotected sex is being had in a cloud of smoke—begging, pleading for this life to be over

This is a poem about my life— Rehab, clean & bright, 12-stepping my way to a brand new life, smelling roses for the first time in years

This is a poem about my life—

To be continued.... Diane Dawson

Friend

To my so-called friend who ate at my Thanksgiving table every year

To my so-called friend who broke bread & swapped old stories with my family

To my so-called friend who sat in the cubicle next to mine at work

To my so-called friend who always smoked & drank behind me

To my so-called friend who made my days a lot brighter

To my so-called friend who cried with me when I told her I had AIDS

To my so-called friend who doesn’t return my phone calls anymore

To my so-called friend who got a better job & quit the old one without notice

To my so-called friend where are you now, now is when I need you the most

To my so-called friend FUCK-YOU!! I hate you for leaving me all alone

To my so-called friend I’ll be just fine without you Because you were never my friend From the start Diane Dawson

Pain away

Cruel world, surprises around every corner, strangers with hidden agendas, I must keep pushing forward. Decisions, some good, some bad. Body aches & night sweats interrupting my sleep. Youth is slipping away— why now? I thought it was promised to me forever. Where is all this pain coming from? Is there a pill I can take to keep me from old age? Up & down stairs every day, standing on my weary legs for 7 hours— want to give up, but can’t. How can I start my life over when half of it is gone? I feel like a tree in winter. Working for nothing, trying to get something, every time I turn around, there is a bill hanging about—I can’t give up, not now. Where is the light at the end of this very long tunnel?—I must keep pushing forward because I know there is a reward at the end. I hope. Diane Dawson