Deep is the dampness settling upon my brown skin.

A layered onion would not succumb to its 

seduction.

 

An Oregon rain is persistent, precipitated by

a scowl of dirty clouds, a Creole-colored frown,

its sound preceding as if pitter-pattering feet running

free like caribou on an open plain.

 

Nothing tastes better than Jovino's Pinot Gris,

recommended by Emily, a wine and cheese tray prepared

by Emily of the same name. They bring to mind poet

Emily Dickinson. Every Emily should.

 

Not enough is said for cognitive recognition.

Why should anybody revel over the lady dressed in red

in Blackbird's Wine Shop on NE Freemont Street?

 

Gentrification has not fully come to the Beaumont-Wilshire

neighborhood, given the beauty that preceded the 

arrival of the New White Urban Pioneer; a new term for

 

white folk settling the former colored folk

neighborhood, where once deep dampness settled upon

brown-skin; something

 

only a brown-skinned man, elucidated by a second glass of

wine could articulate, while wearing a black T-shirt

branded by a yellow chest label rocking the cool black-

lettered name and call sign, JAZZ RADIO 89.1, Mt. Hood

Community College | Oregon Public Broadcasting (OPB).

 

I'll raise this second glass of Pinot Gris for brown people

today, tomorrow, and unfortunately their untethered past.

I will not succumb to seduction.