Pack Night

Tribal at Bembe,
whip-cracked by the congas and djembes.
The DJ was so there that he wasn't.
Nicky got roughed up later,
when the girls we took home
attracted some stragglers
who were smoking trees on the corner.
He plugged the dam,
took some kicks to the abdomen
and got out of the corridor fast.

The cops.

The vino frizzante after.

The morning, hung.
I had smoked my mind,
played video golf while the boys dropped rhymes.
We had wrestled our women away from the others,
we were fathers and sons,
tribesmen and brothers.