|Terrance and me: Antioch MFA Graduation 2005.|
By Terrance Hayes
Now that my afro's as big as Shaft's
I feel a little better about myself.
How it warms my bullet-head in Winter,
black halo, frizzy hat of hair.
Shaft knew what a crown his was,
an orb compared to the bush
on the woman sleeping next to him.
(There was always a woman
sleeping next to him. I keep thinking,
If I'd only talk to strangers. . .
grow a more perfect head of hair.)
His afro was a crown.
Bullet after barreling bullet,
fist-fights & car chases,
three movies & a brief TV series,
never one muffled strand,
never dampened by sweat--
I sweat in even the least heroic of situations.
I'm sure you won't believe this,
but if a policeman walks behind me, I tremble:
What would Shaft do? What would Shaft do?
Bits of my courage flake away like dandruff.
I'm sweating even as I tell you this,
I'm not cool,
I keep the real me tucked beneath a wig,
I'm a small American frog.
I grow beautiful as the theatre dims.
By Noriko Nakada
Inspired by Terrance Hayes’ “Shafro”
I see you on TV
And I think I hate you.
But Bethenny, you actually crack me up.
I want to hate you
With your book deal
And reality TV show
And perfect little baby.
But I want to drink Skinny Girl margaritas too.
I want to lounge by a pool in Malibu
And do yoga
And ice skate with stars
And visit food trucks.
But I don’t get how you’re so skinny.
When TV adds ten pounds
And you like your drinks (even if they are skinny)
And you’re a foodie
All at the same time.