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Aunt Karenís House in Ozone Park, Queens Alaska- white walls, Used coffee table that no one wanted. An exercise bike set her back a hundred bucks. She hardly ever uses it. Says itís for her unwanted love handles, That six pack gut that wonít go away. Saturday night shadows over red carnations Painted to perfection. Stacks of cdís upon the shelf. Time magazines lie like a woodpile in the Corner of the apartment they pay eleven hundred a month for. Afro centric figurines, Unpolished brass sits above my Ginseng-oiled head. It smells of Glade plug-ins, Steaks smothered in gravy, tufts of onion. Itís raining lemon-scented Lysol in a house Of artificial plants, a house held up with used Scraps. The cat holds himself up against the silver radiator. Presses his whiskers against the screen of the window. Cartoon videos ranged in rows like a band of soldiers. A New York Yankees t-shirt hangs on the back door of the bathroom. Feet hooded in smoke-gray socks pert rude from a hunter-green recliner. Steam unfurls from an iron skillet of fried chicken. Frozen vegetables parish in their own juices. Baby-soft cauliflower crucified on a fork. Broccoli melts in my mouth. Fruit punch in plastic packs sipped through red straws. 12 packs of soda sit next to the blue cat dish. He licks between the toes of his claws, Licks his ass sparkling clean. I sneak into the kitchen for a fudge-nut brownie. Lights strike the fiberglass counter, a band of Chocolate donuts. Tip toe past cousinís room, Aunt snoring in her pink panties. Wanted a chicken drumstick from the night before, But the microwave would have given me away. Can see myself in the 99-cent plates. Stuff my face with yellow rice, Shredded collared greens suffocating in Louisiana Tabasco sauce. Itís a fruit bowl of bills. A tray of steaming grits, curtains of bacon. Sheís got unlocked, straight porn running ramped in her streets. I can leave the room if you want to watch that, my cousin says.
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