What it Look Like
By
Terrance Hayes
Dear Ol' Dirty
Bastard: I too like it raw,
I don't especially
care for Duke Ellington
at a birthday party. I
care less and less
about the shapes of
shapes because forms
change and nothing is
more durable than feeling.
My uncle used the
money I gave him
to buy a few vials of
what looked like candy
after the party where
my grandma sang
in an outfit that was
obviously made
for a West African
king. My motto is
Never mistake what it
is for what it looks like.
My generosity, for
example, is mostly a form
of vanity. A bandanna
is a useful handkerchief,
but a handkerchief is
a useless-ass bandanna.
This only looks like a
footnote in my report
concerning the
party. Trill stands for what is
truly real though it may be hidden by the houses
just over the hills
between us, by the hands
on the bars between
us. That picture
of my grandmother with
my uncle
when he was a baby is
not trill. What it is
is the feeling felt
seeing garbagemen drift
along the predawn
avenues, a sloppy slow rain
taking its time to the
coast. Milquetoast
is not trill, nor is
bouillabaisse. Bakku-shan
is Japanese for a
woman who is beautiful
only when viewed from
behind. Like I was saying,
my motto is Never
mistake what it looks like
for what it is else you end up like that Negro
Othello. (Was Othello
a Negro?) Don't lie
about who you are
sometimes and then realize
the lie is true? You
are blind to your power, Brother
Bastard, like the king
who wanders his kingdom
searching for the
king. And that's okay.
No one will tell you
you are the king.
No one really wants a
king anyway.