Skip to main content

Crueler Intentions: Part 1 (James Leland Ludeau-Lafayette, LA & Louis Toliver Jr-Austin, TX)

"Winston is such a he-bitch!" The football players whispered around the practice field. "I mean he used to be the new boy, now he thinks he is hot stuff since he got quarterback." And then came Tino, a freshman aiming for the throne. 

It was football tryouts. A new year ahead and Tino wanted the power he felt rightfully his. Winston was throwing the football, but when Tino walked onto the practice field, all eyes went to him. 

"I'm here to tryout for quarterback." Tino grinned. He was like a masculine black widow, he knew what he wanted and had the ambition to get it.

"I'm the starting quarterback," Winston dropped the football and walked over to his challenger. "Who are you. I mean what are you? A freshman?" Winston laughed, the other guys joined in. 

"Who is this kid?" One of the guys whispered to another. 

"A kid with balls," another responded. 

------------------------------------------

"I earned this position, buddy. Two years to get here. Freshmen don't just become quarterbacks," Winston threw the football with force to Tino who caught it with ease.

"Yes, I know about you. The new boy a couple years ago, then a sudden rise to popularity." Tino grinned and then threw the football back with severe strength. "Right after my sisters's death."

"Sister?" Winston caught the ball getting pushed back a bit. 

"Yeah, Tina Novac. That was my sister and I know everything. So, it's only matter of time," Tino began walking off. 

"Only matter of time til what?" Winston asked aggravated. 

"I kill you," Tino disappeared into the bleachers like a spider in its web.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

This Little White Boy Who Wanted Some Nigger In Him (James Leland Ludeau III - Lafayette, LA)

Grew up on a plantation
Removed
Secluded from the world
I knew classes but didn’t understand race
Because what raced through my veins wasn’t something of which I could ever speak
My father could fuck the slave girls
But I couldn’t touch the men
It filled me with resentment
Fueled my resentment with lust
Until it was too much to take
It was a small contained community
White as the cotton in the fields
Only dark around the edges where the black men lived
Ploughing the fields
I’d imagine them ploughing me
Sinewy
Glistening with sweat as the sun bathed their shoulders
The sweat running down until it pooled around the waistband of their thin cotton pants
Their skin
Black, almost indigo, like night
Some like coffee with milk in it
Cafe au lait
I could smell their musk
Watched as their muscly bodies worked
I yearned
Burned
This little white boy who wanted some nigger in him
To fall beneath the weight of one
As he heaved
As he forced his throbbing cock into my crevice
I longed for even the pa…

"I Love You" is Enough (Louis Toliver Jr)

Please don’t stress I see what you do all year Everyday you show me Through your actions How much you care for me But please don’t stress It’s not money or possessions That make me give my life to you It’s the moments that are small When people don’t care to look That you show your love most So don’t stress to demonstrate What you already know you do Just say “I love you” and… My underwear will come off for you

Poet's Cry for Mike Tidewell (Barry Sons - Berwick, LA)

I heard the Politician say in a hunter’s whisper, “There’s a poet in the marsh, I heard one today. He was crying about the marshland’s accelerated decay.”
“Mr. Politician, can you help us anyway? I refuse to think our marsh is so quickly Going away. If we can scan the galaxy And bring men back from the dead, Why can’t we save our marsh? I can’t Get that around my head.”
There’s a poet in the marsh, I heard one today. Whining and crying; Who needs them anyway?” “Mr. Politician, I’m here to make you feel. Try to wrap your heart around the things that Are real. Like love and friendship passion and Sorrow; the love of earth and concern for tomorrow.”
“There’s a poet in the marsh, I heard one today." Mr. Politician, I cry for America’s wetlands,