Bronx Masquerade by Nikki Grimes Read Free Book Online Page B

one anyway. If I get a laugh, it won’t be the first time.
    The bell rang one last time. I took a few bites of my sandwich, wrapped up the rest, and tossed it in my book case for later. I told my growling stomach to be quiet and headed to Mr. Ward’s office for my guitar.

OPEN MIKE
    D-Train
    BY STERLING S. HUGHES
     
     
    He squeezed through the subway doors
a young gun, thirsty for the kind of coke
you can’t sip through a straw.
He sized up the passengers,
chose his prey:
a wrinkled woman at the tail end
of her Geritol years
who fears her own shadow
with good reason.
He lunged at her,
demanded her cash
to replenish his stash
of powdered death.
No one blinked or came
to her aid, at first.
Then, in He beamed.
Light streamed from His fingers,
singed anyone caught without
a robe of righteousness
across his back.
The lack of goodness
    in the young gun’s heart
was oxygen to the fire, and so
he burned a good long while
before I woke.
The dream stoked my faith
in the judgment and justice
that will come someday
or this afternoon.
Soon. I turn up the collar
of my white robe,
relieved to know
God’s got me covered
’cause I’m good,
but not that good.

Tyrone
    The brotha took me to a whole other place. I’m not sure I got all of it, but I got that he don’t call himself no angel. ’Course, if Mr. Goody Two-shoes ain’t no angel, what does that make me? Never mind.
    He sure worked that rhythm. I know that much. He snuck a little rhyme in there too. I like that. Go on, Preacher! Look like God got hisself a poet!

Diondra
    I spent way too long yakking with Tanisha over lunch. She couldn’t stop talking about Pedro Pietri, the poet Mr. Ward had invited to visit our class. He was coming in a couple of weeks and Tanisha said he was gonna rock the house. He was the only poet Mr. Ward had us read who we were actually going to meet, which was pretty cool. Tanisha could hardly wait to check him out. I had other things on my mind, though, so I was glad Tyrone came over and broke up the conversation. He started hitting on Tanisha, as usual. I whispered, “Sorry,” and took off.
    Ten more minutes and Mr. Ward will be in here. I flip my sketchbook open to a fresh page, clip my father’s photo to the corner, and get busy. A few strokes of my pencil and the oval of his face is done. Then I start with his chin, I don’t know why. Maybe because the hardness is there and I want to get it out of the way, hurry on to the softer parts of his face. The parts that show love. I’ve never done a portrait from the bottom to the top before, but why not? As long as it looks like my father when I’m done.
    The first bell rings. I lift my head and there’s Sterling, staring over my shoulder.
    “Hey.”
    “Hey.” I lean back so he can get a better look. “I just started this one,” I tell him. Other kids file in, so I gather up my charcoal pencils.
    Raul swirls his brushes in a jar of water and finishes straightening up Mr. Ward’s desk. I catch his eye and we smile at each other. He’s part of the reason I don’t mind people looking at my drawings anymore. I guess I should give Tanisha some credit too. It was her bright idea to have me do those book report covers.
    The day we got our reports back, Mr. Ward held mine up so everyone could see the cover. I tried evaporating on the spot, I swear. The last thing I wanted was extra attention. Too late! When class was over, I ran out of the room before anyone had a chance to laugh in my face, but Raul caught me in the hall and snatched the report from me quicker than a subway door slamming shut. He said he wanted to get a better look at it. I bit my tongue and stared at the floor.
    “This is good!” he said. “Especially the eyes. They look right through you. You gotta show me how you do the eyes.”
    My jaw dropped. “You think they’re that good?”
    “You’re kidding, right?” Raul didn’t wait for an answer. He handed me back the report, shaking his