Photo by David A. Smith
Montgomery, 1998
Because this is Montgomery in 1998,
the first lessons I learn in 7th grade are I can’t
say nigger too loud and all students need
to wear t-shirts under their Barkley jerseys.
Because this is Montgomery in 1998,
I’m smart enough not to say nigger
too loud so my parents send me away
to the gifted school downtown.
Because this is Montgomery in 1998,
“gifted” means mostly white
kids who can’t fight
or can’t afford private school.
Because this is Montgomery in 1998,
my white friend in Latin won’t talk to me
about anything other than No Limit Records
and East Bay books.
Because this is Montgomery in 1998,
Most of my dreams end with a light-skinned girl’s legs
in English class. One or two dreams
will never leave the Latina who gave me my only nickname.
Because this is Montgomery in 1998,
the school year really doesn’t matter
because no one notices me stringing up
my Terrell Davis cross trainers on the first day.
Because this is Montgomery in 1998,
my grandmother dies
and I feel weak when I try to hold up
my fainting mom in church.
Because this is Montgomery in 1998,
my biggest failures are my failure to dunk
and my failure to raise
my eyebrow like The Rock.
Because this is Montgomery in 1998,
I’m the last kid at home, waiting for the hum
of a car in the driveway while I count all the ghosts
I want to be when I grow up.
Previously published in Banango Street.
Jason McCall has an MFA from the University of Miami. His collections include Two-Face God, Dear Hero, Silver, I Can Explain, and Mother, Less Child. He is co-editor of It Was Written: Poetry Inspired by Hip-Hop. He is an Alabama native, and he teaches at the University of North Alabama.
Because this is Montgomery in 1998,
the first lessons I learn in 7th grade are I can’t
say nigger too loud and all students need
to wear t-shirts under their Barkley jerseys.
Because this is Montgomery in 1998,
I’m smart enough not to say nigger
too loud so my parents send me away
to the gifted school downtown.
Because this is Montgomery in 1998,
“gifted” means mostly white
kids who can’t fight
or can’t afford private school.
Because this is Montgomery in 1998,
my white friend in Latin won’t talk to me
about anything other than No Limit Records
and East Bay books.
Because this is Montgomery in 1998,
Most of my dreams end with a light-skinned girl’s legs
in English class. One or two dreams
will never leave the Latina who gave me my only nickname.
Because this is Montgomery in 1998,
the school year really doesn’t matter
because no one notices me stringing up
my Terrell Davis cross trainers on the first day.
Because this is Montgomery in 1998,
my grandmother dies
and I feel weak when I try to hold up
my fainting mom in church.
Because this is Montgomery in 1998,
my biggest failures are my failure to dunk
and my failure to raise
my eyebrow like The Rock.
Because this is Montgomery in 1998,
I’m the last kid at home, waiting for the hum
of a car in the driveway while I count all the ghosts
I want to be when I grow up.
Previously published in Banango Street.
Jason McCall has an MFA from the University of Miami. His collections include Two-Face God, Dear Hero, Silver, I Can Explain, and Mother, Less Child. He is co-editor of It Was Written: Poetry Inspired by Hip-Hop. He is an Alabama native, and he teaches at the University of North Alabama.
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