a poem by t’ai freedom ford

past life portrait

circa Summer 1980


Genius isn't free; there's a great price to pay. And Richard knew it.
    -Jennifer Lee Pryor



When fucking is the family business
you got two choices: hide the bruise

of your shame and cry or look at it
square on and laugh until the bruise

becomes muse or keloided battle scar.
When your daddy is a motherfucker

you learn to remove your pinky ring
before you slap, so not to leave a bruise

or break skin—there is already too much
blood invested in this business when

your granny is selling your mama
and other women’s bodies you learn

irony and fucking becomes funny
as fuck except laughter sounds like bruise

and you grow up thinking of women
as sweet things to cop like candybars.

Pussy is neither exotic nor erotic
but rather ordinary as a bruise

and what’s a boy to do but collect
panties and cursewords in a house

full of blasphemous Jesuses ricocheting
out of the mouths of tricks—bruised

lips that do not kiss, just suck. What
the fuck you gone do but laugh?

And make everybody and they mother
laugh too so you don’t feel crazy or lonely—

And the laugh tracks start to loop lovely
like the women loop lovely marriage

after marriage every year like some sort
of odd ritualistic undoing of the bruise

of your daddy as pimp and Original
Motherfucker: origin of your laughter

the golden key to your happily ever
after—the records, movies, mountains

of cocaine and fuck and nigger empires
until you understand nigger bruises.

When the laughter turns to voices
that won’t turn off when the routine ends

and the cocaine only quickens everything
to a blur of fuck, you must confront the bruise

but grandma ain’t there to kiss away the hurt
cause she dead along with mama and daddy

so you pick at the scab, grab the rum to silence
the humming in your head with a cigarette lighter.

Poof! You remember running—the skin
tight with scorch   baffling light  and bruise

and the clarity is scary as hell
cause you realize the price of genius,

the product of your laughter
and your happily ever after awakens

you in a hospital room that smells
of bandage and damaged blues.




t’ai freedom ford is a New York City high school English teacher, Cave Canem Fellow and Pushcart Prize nominee. Her poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Drunken Boat, Sinister Wisdom, No, Dear, The African American Review, PLUCK!, Vinyl and others. In 2012 and 2013, she completed two multi-city tours as a part of a queer women of color literary salon, The Revival. t’ai lives and loves in Brooklyn, but hangs out digitally at: shesaidword.com.

workin' at the car wash

In Car Wash, black filmmaker Michael Schultz (Cooley High, Which Way is Up?) offers up a vibrant day in the life at Mr. B's (Sully Boyar) Dee-Luxe car wash in L.A. This 1976 flick wasn't a big hit upon release but has caught on in subsequent years on television.  Today there's a lot of remarkable aspects to it, including the dynamite ensemble, the soundtrack (incredible, catchy songs by Rose Royce, including the title track which hit number one and is still an enduring classic), and Schultz's and cinematographer Frank Stanley's dynamic film-making.  I loved the use of color--those rich oranges, reds, yellows and pale blues--which make the movie a visual treat; also their repetition emphasize the vibrancy the characters try to bring out of their monotonous lives.

The film is notable too for some of its depictions: Richard Pryor figures briefly as Daddy Rich, the founder of the Church of Divine Spirituality with The Pointer Sisters in tow; Lindy (Antonio Fargas) is gay and breaks male gender norms (one memorable line: "I'm more man than you'll ever be and more woman than you'll ever get."); and Duane (Bill Duke), who wants to be referred to as Abdullah, is interested in more militant politics.  These identities collide in a screwball comedy setting in sharp, sometimes unpredictable ways. As many of the characters yearn for a better existence, the comradeship of the crew ends up being deeper than their differences.

With all these strengths, it makes the weaknesses of Joel Schumacher's script more glaring; the dialogue and gags are more tepid and unfunny than they should be. But the movie is sort of sad in a way too--in a disarming moment, Duane cries at the end, saying that he can't take another day of "the clown show" and comes to a moment of understanding with old school Lonnie (Ivan Dixon). Throughout, the talented cast does their best to fill in gaps with their charisma.***

-Jeffery Berg

Also check an interesting perspective from Rose "Bams" Cooper of 3 Black Chicks in her review of Car Wash: "I am left with the uneasy feeling that overall, Car Wash failed to offer more than a brief - and, if one looks at it closely enough, rather sad - glimpse back to the Spectacular Seventies. Back in the day, I might have found Car Wash a lot funnier than I did today. But maybe that says more about me, than it does about this movie."

The music in the film was pre-recorded so the cast could listen along and it truly makes the soundtrack an integral part of the movie.  I loved this moment between Tracy Reed and Franklyn Ajay set to the smooth "I Wanna Get Next to You."