Carnot Cycle
(after Samiya Bashir)
By Javon Rustin
Only sometimes do homegrown babies break the carriage of a city’s background.
Sometimes bullets whine money. Sometimes bullets unbaby children in reverse.
Sometimes baby calls late for a drug fronted off the good graces of a bad deal.
Sometimes grace gives graves to friendships plucked from gun barrels.
Early college somethings granting diplomas to fair fights. Graduated to death threats.
Dead set on bodying any embarrassment. Disrespect gets you nowhere.
Gets you cell squated, prison filled, guilt found dangling from a poor choice.
Broke decisions. Unriched thoughts. Mid-mind. Drenched in what could be stopped.
Click clack.
Like those days we grabbed cousin’s gun and went backyard tree shooting. We rapped. We shot. We
killed leaves and left alive but failed to leave the gun that clung to one hand and guided it to the life
of stick-up kid like the one man you swear to hire for higher paper but higher learning should tell you
that’s just a blade of grass to acres that should be degrees beyond where leaves are fond of falling
without holes and you can climb a tree and fall and climb and fall and climb without fear of being
shot down.
Javon Rustin is a poet, performer, and computer programmer. He is a 2x HBCU graduate, receiving his Bachelors and Masters from North Carolina A & T. A mix of humorous storytelling with powerful wordplay wrapped in metaphors and Black joy.