Showing posts with label egg and cheese. Show all posts
Showing posts with label egg and cheese. Show all posts

Friday, February 15, 2008

Ode to Katie Walsh

I know I promised to talk about one important black person—a Negro of Note, if you will—each day during this month of blackness. However, today I must celebrate the birth of Katie Walsh. I think that, although Katie is biologically of the “Caucasian persuasion,” as it were, she is a strong black woman at heart. Here’s why:

Katie’s from the US Virgin Islands. She never had to go anywhere to get her groove back—she was born with it.
Katie isn’t afraid to give tough love. Much like my own mother, Katie will speak truth and tell you what you need to hear even when you don’t want to hear it.
Katie knows how to get free stuff. I mean, if there’s one thing I’ve learned as a po’ slave, it’s how to make something out of nothing. Katie’s a PR squirrel trying to get a nut, and she knows how to work it.
She’s street. I’ve received the following text message from Katie in total seriousness: “I’m in a Wal-Mart with Master P and Tyler Perry, and it is so crazy.” Um, if that’s not street tough, what is? Oh, I know—this photo:

Katie’s down with Tyler Perry.

I don’t think I’m doing my sister from another mister true justice. I think poetry is the only way I can express what is truly in my heart.



February 15, 2008: KATIE WALSH


I think it was that day in film class
You were wearing that hot dress that accentuated your sweet ass
I knew then, you were my friend crush.
We made a movie about mating season
And we got an A-, for no good reason
I took time to get to know you, there was no rush.
You’ve taken a blacktress out of her borough
And calmed me when my brow was furrowed
Your couch has been my second bed.
You showed me your green apples
You were there when I invented peach Schnapple
I can’t wait for our promise ceremony in Christiansted.
I can tell you when I’m trolling for vampires
And you don’t judge—and you ain’t no liar
Thank god for your 3 a.m. egg-and-cheese sammies.
Here’s to 25 more years of you and me
Drinking red wine and co-hosting dinner parties
Honestly, if it wasn’t racist, I’d have no problem being your mammy.