3/30: SHOUT OUT

by cabbythepoet

shout out to the businessmen buying broken gold
shout out to the folks who kept gold after it broke
shout out to the men who hug me in public
shout out to my pops who texts me recipes
shout out to the cast iron feeding the cast of my life
shout out of your driver side window at the top of your lungs
shout out to the crescent moons marooned under my eyes
shout out to voicemails
shout out to wanting to talk to someone so much,
you call to hear their voice, only to leave your voice behind
shout out to green lights and Monday morning traffic
shout out to black tea, honey steam, and hand heat
shout out to the voice in my head and the voice in my throat
shout out to buttermilk pie breath
shout out to my lonely homies
shout out to the play station four encouraging my solitude
shout out to the service industry
shout out to the industrious servers who laugh at my jokes
shout out to my niece, Jessi Diane Caballero, J3, JD, valentine’s day baby
shout out to the bridges I did not brave
shout out to the turtles picking up shifts for Atlas
shout out to the bargain shopping hustle I inherited
shout out to the out of reach future
shout out to Sufjan Stevens curing my sorrow
shout out to the lady bugs who trust the touch of my hands
shout out to stick in the mud that is my tongue
shout out to the generous ticket stubs of love
shout out to the depressed, us champions of effortless sadness
shout out to the sunsets stunting like Shakespearean sonnets
shout out to man behind the manuscript
shout out to the mighty pens of my friends
shout out to my left palm dividing the wind like a pretend god
shout out to my students who fish their voices from the river
shout out to the promises I will die to deliver
shout out to the verdicts I reach about myself in silence
shout out to the endless shouting of shame
shout out to the dark passenger shouting to get out
shout out to the dark side of the wiry moon
shout out to the dark bark of peppered brisket
shout out to unrequited love’s lesson on risk
shout out to my happy flintstone feet, flat as a flag
shout out to the poems put on plates
shout out to complete feasts
shout out to inescapable refuge of regret
shout out to the mouth, the pink soundboard of speech
shouting out loud what I refuse to whisper.

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