The Complete Works of Pat Parker

by Pat Parker

  Lucille: Now you got to know better than that. There’s so much information regarding Black folks in this country that never see the inside of anybody’s history book.

  Tish: Yeah I know that, but usually you can find out about it from other sources. Leftist materials – places like the Afro-American Historical Society or the copies of old Black magazines or some place.

  Lucille: Tish, you amaze me sometimes. Here you are, the Black revolutionary, and you are so willing to believe in “good.” And rights and all that idealistic crap. Girl, how you going to survive a revolution? You believe in people too much.

  Tish: If you don’t believe in people how the hell are you going to make it through life? I have to believe in people. That’s what’s going to make a difference. Hey, Che said it. The first love of a revolutionary is his people. I meet somebody talking revolution who’s not talking out of love for people I don’t want to know them. Ideology doesn’t mean a thing without people. That’s what rhetoric is. Deliver me from those kind of people.

  Ann: (has been dealing the cards) Excuse me, but are you two going to plot the political course of the country or play cards?

  Tish: (they pick up cards and arrange hands) No, but really Cille, I understand your point about our distorted history, but I’m just surprised that I never heard that thing about MacArthur.

  Ann: Yeah, I never heard that either, but I wouldn’t doubt it in the least. It sounds par for the course.

  Tish: Yeah, well that’s true. My brother used to complain cause he fought in World War II and all they let him do in the Navy was be a cook. I think the fool was lucky. Once they figured out that the niggers wasn’t all going to turn tail and run, they put them dead in front of the guns. Look at Vietnam.

  Ann: Tish, how the hell did you have a brother old enough to fight in World War II? Were you even born then?

  Tish: Well, remember now I was born in ’44 and was the baby of the family, and a menopause baby at that. My brother was the oldest, plus he got my folks to sign to get him in.

  Lucille: Why the hell did they do that?

  Tish: They found out the chump hadn’t been going to school for a whole year. They figured that better he be in the service than in the streets. At least I should say my father figured; my mother wasn’t too keen on the idea. And what my father decided was the law; my mother never heard of the Black matriarchy.

  Lucille: Yeah, but in a war. Seems like the streets was a hell of a lot safer.

  Tish: You don’t know the Houston Police. They didn’t believe in juvenile crime. They’d shoot a Black teenager, old man, baby. Anything that moved, they’d shoot.

  Ann: From what I hear, they’re not much different now.

  Tish: Now, that’s the truth. Hey, who’s got the bid, here?

  Ann: It’s on Lucille.

  Lucille: Oh I start with a light weight 50.

  Tish: 51.

  Ann: 52.

  Lucille: Are you chumps trying to run me up? 53.

  Tish: 54 – you’re not the only person at this table with cards you know.

  Ann: I say 55.

  Lucille: 56.

  Tish: Well, I lied enough for a while. I’ll pass.

  Ann: 56 huh. Is my card going to be in that kitty? If I bid 57 are you going to pass Cille. (Looks at Cille and flutters her eyelids)

  Lucille: I believe it’s time to get off the pot, Ms. Jolivette.

  Ann: Shit, I can’t count on that damn kitty. Pass. What’s Trump?

  Lucille: Spades, please.

  Ann: (Turns over the kitty) God Damn it! Look at this shit. My double run is in the fucking kitty. Damn it!

  Lucille: Well mine isn’t. (Picks up the kitty and puts it in her hand.)

  Restored Poems

  From Child of Myself

  Assassination

  It’s Hunt’s catsup

  splattered over the country

  like in some movie

  and the dead guy

  shifted ever so slightly

  when a rock fell too close

  but it is real -

  this dead man

  twitches in our minds

  and we stop to scratch.

  Ice Cream Blues

  here

  i am again

  feelin good

  feelin sad

  cause

  they caught me

  & swung

  the blues

  down on me.

  ice cream

  ice cream

  vanilla and chocolate

  child what you need

  brown or white

  that

  good good taste

  make it all right

  it was a bright pretty morning

  when I rolled out of my sack

  gonna go sell ice cream

  then i’m rolling right back

  here

  i am again

  feelin good

  feelin sad

  cause

  they caught me

  & swung

  the blues

  down on me

  ice cream

  ice cream

  only 15 cents

  little child with a dime

  well you can have it for that

  leavin a little kid out

  ought to be some kind of crime

  ice cream

  ice cream

  brown or white

  good good taste

  make it all right

  went down to the job one day

  boss man call me side and say

  gonna have to cut you loose, my friend

  cause you aint bringing in enough dividends.

  ice cream

  ice cream

  brown or white

  that good good taste

  make it all right.

  From Pit Stop

  To an Unlabelled

  I’m playing a

  game.

  I don’t know the rules.

  & I should know,

  that’s why there are P.E. Majors?

  But I’m playing

  anyhow

  The umpire or referee

  or match maker said play.

  & you

  Jumped in the game.

  unlabelled

  So who are you.

  Sister,

  do I call you that.

  I hope not.

  Sisters are fat ladies

  in church,

  sweating away sins -

  without rumpling their clothes

  & keeping me in my place.

  His wife - but,

  you quit that game

  back there,

  you changed your uniform.

  A regular on the squad

  Concert pianist -

  I don’t know what that means.

  I play drums.

  but I fake it.

  I think that’s wrong - but

  like I said I don’t know the rules.

  The game keeper is mad.

  Friend?

  I’ve heard that before.

  It doesn’t quite mean

  I call you friend -

  &

  You know what I mean.

  Uncollected Poems: 1960s

  The Mirror

  Gleaming pavements

  stared back at me,

  And talked to my

  Feet as they carried

  me to the rundown

  Room where the

  Fortune woman works.

  I gave her the

  dollar fee and

  sat to know of

  Tomorrow’s tale.

  Large emerald eyes

  Looked at me

  And returned

  My dollar fee

  plus three.

  1964p

  Of Life

  I thought if I were a sparrow,

  I’d be free to fly and live;

  I found out about the Hawk.

  I thought if I were rich,

  Thi
ngs would be my way,

  Then I learned of taxes.

  I said if I were a man. . .

  Then I learned.

  1964p

  I have seen death

  Burst into a live body

  & strangle out life

  Like an irate husband.

  I have seen death

  Slip into a doubting mind

  Persuade - Convince

  the life - of death’s peace.

  I have seen death

  Like a hard slavemaster

  Command - & life ceased

  From a tired soul.

  I do not fear death.

  I do not fear death.

  I do not fear death.

  1966p

  To a Friend

  for Betty Trope

  I entered your fantasy,

  Not a stranger, but

  Not a friend.

  I took a place,

  once yours,

  & claimed it mine.

  You doubted but,

  Did not protest,

  for I entered

  & claimed

  as one close to your Sun.

  You sat and permitted

  my stars,

  for love of your Sun,

  & my form changed.

  I became a Sun.

  & you no longer a being,

  watching stars,

  but a new Sun,

  in a new universe.

  I beamed,

  my rays stronger.

  And yours,

  lighting your fantasy,

  making it real.

  Your Sun becoming mine.

  Mine yours;

  Two universes become lighted,

  Twice as well.

  1965p

  City Song

  Heat seeps from city pavement

  Into, perspiring pores of Old

  Auntie, sitting at her white-grey

  window watching movement——

  Wonders why she sits,

  still.

  Junk man father looks

  at The team, and his

  Family; telling his beer

  of That. . . time when

  He could of been a big

  Star.

  Young boy-man stands

  on street corners with,

  More boy-men talking of . .

  Girls and enemy boys,

  And week-end drunks,

  And school - less days,

  and THAT party THAT

  Topped older parties,

  And the next party

  Which should be . . . . .

  Better than all.

  Project child in piss-reeked

  Pants, panting after

  Great chase of dirty

  Bad men, Hoping . . . . .

  That the latest

  Uncle will give him

  A quarter . . . . .tomorrow.

  Child-woman remembers

  soft words spoken

  by her Man, while

  Praying to the Unknown,

  That her period comes

  this month.

  Weary woman walks

  thru rat-ridden rooms

  With precious remains

  of this evening’ supper

  Given by her MISSUS;

  Wishing it was time

  to go…To work again.

  City song sounds

  from cracked pavements,

  And airless alleys,

  Unheard by heavy hearts,

  Soft sounds - City song.

  1965p

  Not a Good Night

  “Do not go gentle into that good night”

  Dylan Thomas

  I followed a path

  the path - it led

  to somewhere. Curved

  around space leading

  me from my youth.

  I met an old man.

  “Old man, give back

  my youth.”

  He gave me a gold pitcher

  with a hole in it.

  I followed a path.

  the path - it led

  to marbles & jacks

  & dolls, mother,

  house, school, love.

  I met a little girl.

  “Little girl, give back

  my youth.”

  She ran away

  Her mother had told

  her not to speak

  to strangers.

  I followed a path

  the path - it led

  to a mirror.

  I saw a face - not mine.

  A face with lines

  leading to pain & joy,

  song and dances.

  I wanted to dance again.

  I skipped over guilt;

  I laughed at failure.

  I had never written a

  “bad” poem.

  For one moment,

  I chased the lines away.

  The lines crept back.

  Crawling across my face,

  the valleys and hills -

  valleys of skin - no foliage.

  “Mirror, give back

  my youth.”

  The face in the mirror

  turned away.

  I followed a path

  the path - it led

  to a river.

  I bathe myself.

  River, give back

  my youth.”

  The river was muddy.

  I followed a path

  the path - it led

  to an unowned grave.

  It did not say me,

  Somehow I felt it was mine.

  1965p

  To a Poet, dead

  Swinging down a trail

  down a bumpy trail

  Hey,

  watch the boulder on the right,

  (held by flour paste)

  Skipping over rocks,

  over slipper rocks,

  (got no rubber soled shoes)

  Run,

  run down the trail, over the rocks,

  to the path

  (a straight path)

  fly high over that path,

  to the temple.

  Hit your knees

  Oh, Zeus, Lenaeus, fair Muse

  & Jehovah too,

  I need you,

  you to me,

  for poems you see,

  Cause I wantta be

  Poet

  1965p

  Please you all

  give me that “old time religion” or

  something like that.

  & lo & behold

  a hand reaches through

  stain glass window

  & you reach,

  wine, red mountain wine,

  wine like poets drink,

  so drink,

  drink deep,

  drink long,

  too long,

  too deep,

  & your mind sleeps,

  & you are -

  a man drowned,

  drowned,

  sinking down,

  sinking

  down,

  spinning round &

  round

  a top.

  top can’t stop

  Sambo’s tigers melted away.

  1965p

  Two Faces of Black

  I am a mistress to the Sun

  I draw energy from its loins

  The earth is my chambermaid

  Its people are my slaves

  Slave, your bones are tired

  The sun is too hot

  But your kids are hungry

  You know you can’t stop

  I fly to the Summit of Olympus

  Zeus is my houseboy

  Pegasus is my packhorse

  I am goddess of the Heavens

  Fall on your knees woman

  Pray to your new found God

  Beg Forgiveness for Cain

  Beg for a new face

  The faces of Eve were three

  I have only two

  Time has made them strangers

  One
is only a dream

  1965p

  Gold Stars & Hollow Bags

  I

  Gold stars given

  for good work

  in younger years -

  Become meaning

  of good things.

  The search begins

  to find

  the biggest Gold star.

  A Golden star

  blazing - slashing

  like a sharp knife

  thru fog and mist.

  Blasting out of a

  black sky.

  I’ll be the Savior

  when I get my star.

  II

  A hollow bag

  Empty as death’s eyes

  Waits like a new grave

  For a soul to become

  its content.

  Pliant bag

  for the almost people

  Sucks in life

  like a dying man.

  Bag people

  Trying to get out,

  to start their search.

  It’s hard to climb a bag.

  III.

  Star searchers

  Run scared.