Michael Cirelli

Deep in the Boogie Down—
the bassinet of the boom bap
where the trinity is The Treacherous Three,
English is the third language
behind Bronx and Puerto Rican,
and I was nervous
because I only speak Catholic school
and I'm a Red Sox fan.  
I'm just a student of KRS-1, not a son,
on a train fourteen stops beyond my comfort
zone hiding behind headphones coughing
bass, and a backpack full of lyrics:
Notorious B.I.G., Rakim, Perdomo,
Run DMC, Brooks, wanting to be real cool,
wanting to be their "dawg"—
but feeling like a mailman,
another Elvis
to the students I will lead
through a workshop in a language
I itch to get my rusted cavities around.
From Vacations on the Black Star Line. Copyright © 2010 by Michael Cirelli. Used with permission of Hanging Loose Press.

Poems by This Author

Light (an Ars Poetica) by Michael Cirelli
We all do the same ol’ same ol’ same.

Further Reading

Poems About Home
9773 Comanche Ave.
by David Trinidad
Notebook of a Return to the Native Land [excerpt]
by Aimé Césaire
by Naomi Shihab Nye
by Marilyn Nelson
Evangelize Your Love
by Jillian Weise
Fishing on the Susquehanna in July
by Billy Collins
He Foretells His Passing
by F. D. Reeve
Home is so Sad
by Philip Larkin
My House, I Say
by Robert Louis Stevenson
On the Disadvantages of Central Heating
by Amy Clampitt
Opus 80
by Arthur Davison Ficke
by Jane Kenyon
by Stuart Dischell
Psalm of Home Redux
by David Lee
by Andrew Hudgins
by Shira Dentz
Te Deum
by Charles Reznikoff
The Bedroom
by Paula Bohince
The Cabbage
by Ruth Stone
The Lake Isle of Innisfree
by W. B. Yeats
This Is Just To Say
by William Carlos Williams
Untitled [I grew up in North Adams]
by Brenda Iijima
Wonder Cabinet
by Tina Chang