“mixed”

in the park 

across the street

where I grew up

maybe ten yards from our slanted grass

covered combo football and baseball field

musicians a little older

saturdays would play

sax and conga conversations

background music growin’ up

jungle music

my people’s music

drums bass horns

-- saxophones –

beat that makes even wall

street go

corner boys my neighborhood

would play

background music growing up

time passed we

mixed it up

threw in some

of the written stuff

the polite perfect

no swing

fresh from the grave

written stuff

captured the bop

on white lined

sheets of paper

mixed it up

all hybrid like

soul and buttoned

down

some of us/me

no doubt

mixed it up

maybe

more than most

fatal flaw

mixed race guy

mixed it up

more than most

now growing

old

still sometimes

wonder

who the fuck

I am

seriously doubt

you understand

in-between place

people of color

non

people of color

live

modern techno world

colors mixed together

sometimes up or

sometimes in.