BPR 46 | 2019
I don’t know why poets love me! Famous
poets, great writers who treat me
as if I’m their equal. In my childhood,
they called me D-head; they said my feet
were gunboats. “Sing so-
lo,” they said, “so low
we can’t hear you.” But
in the pictures I can see that
little light of glad living in my eyes.