Hood Diaspora

remembering home for a quick sec

Every two weeks, my barber	my play uncle
walked down the street		cigarette pursed in the corner 

of his lips 	pressed together to hold in heat 
with his breath		a carpenter’s pencil over his ear 

in case my grandfather was willing to hire 
extra help & weed crumbles nestled in his nail beds.

When my hair grew long enough, he’d give me dark caesars 
&…