The Brink of a Dying Chill

Jing! Jing!

Jing! Jing!

Sounds of a good day.

At a time when emotional funk stunk up my life,

A string attached to four bells spoke when I didn’t have much to say.

Jack and Jill Ice Cream,

A natural born hustler driving the truck to make C.R.E.A.M.

Plus a ride along but it wasn’t my dream

Although pulling that string released the chill within my pent up steam.

Jing! Jing!

Jing! Jing!

Leaving the top of the city for the shallows of

“THE BOTTOM” could be a dangerous trail

So my sales window activity

Was sharper than a musketeer’s rapier

When all the while,

I pulled that string to ring

A song in a ghetto child’s ear.

Jing! Jing!

Jing! Jing!

Ruminating a building bulldozed by bullies with badges

Boisterous about burning buildings where blacks live

Basically bonds two brothers bound for the bosom of breaking news bigger than butter pecan,

Restores my recollection of the rants relative to rationing relief to residents recovering from the reprehensible response to revolutionary Rastas,

I knew no imposters.

“Don’t try to eat up all the damn popsicles,

And don’t be asking a bunch of fucking questions.”

My only instructions from a peckish instructor

My driver, Big Brotha “D,” formerly know as “Pee-Wee” of the IMPERIALS OF SOUL.

Housing project gangbangers, my guidance from sun up to sundown every bit of 3 sixty 5.

34^th to 38^th, then 41^st for a block party stop.

A stationary ice cream store with the lure

Of a foreign language, my driver made me his interpreter.

Those bells, amidst the yells

Of an urban district inhabited by political animals.

Listless from vicious police attacks on the backs of blacks, no counter attacks

Just the peripatetic mentality to avoid a policeman’s strap.

My adrenaline was high, as kick came to our truck in droves.

I served push-up popsicles, twin popsicles, the fudge filled chocolate crunch popsicles, and Mickey Mouse popsicles with the chocolate ears, eyes and nose

Those didn’t last long at all

The overhead change distributor spoke when coins would fall…

Chk… Chk… Chk. Chk. Chk.

Quarters. Nickels. To dimes.

Dimes. Quarters to nickels.

Chk. Chk… Chk.

20 sales in, my bells sounded exhaustion

Jing. Jing… Jing. Jing

The driver took my place, accelerating the pace.

The change fell heavily, but steadily

Into big bruh’s diligent palm.

The daylight star moved east to west and our popsicle freezers held nothing but calm.

My heavy eyes took in the ice cream smeared faces of “The Bottom” left in out wake

Jing… Jing.

Then black cops made us stop.  Cause we didn’t STOP!!!

At an intersection,

The connection from our old hood to our new home

Boom! Bang! Run Lump!!

Pee-Wee’s body was no longer his own.

A Richard Allen mob, 2 chrome-plated senders.

And black trigger fingers at the ready

A day of progression impeded by oppression leaves the impression,

In a blink Life can turn deadly.

Jing…

MannofStat

Copyright © 2016  by Leroy Elwood Mann