Pay day 
by la guarani

Pay Day 
is the day
unknown cousins 
go crosstown to clubs
thick with coffee color bleach blondes
and spend their whole check on drinks for chicks 
who at the end of the nite take flite
trying to buy love big willie for once
but the ladies bounce/ say good bye with no hesitation
deading relations    
	"cheapest kinda ho there is 
	but you dont get much bang for yo buck"
ol man on the corner says
and the cousins return alone buying time huddled against
the morning which means back to work 12 hours a day work 
work
in a city that speaks a mean throttle of strange words 
and a nigga without a whip is the nigga the girls skip

Pay day
Is the day 
lil' Jimmy hides under the bed
cause when pops gets paid he comes home at 4 swingin crooked
and the bathroom aint a safe place to hide anymore
since Chino broke the latch and caught licks even when it wasn’t pay day
so now Jimmy hides under the bed    
cause at least pops can only reach far enough to kick the legs.
a little.

Pay Day 
is the day 
unknown aunts
go to wait in lines 
steppin across slow moving doped-up cockaroaches
in the check cashers
saying 
[but Im sure this check is valid, 
can't you cash it anyways, 
I don't know "which paper you're talking about"
and then pack the aisles of the hospital
saying "but this medicine is spozed to be covered, 
what do you mean its not deductible,
I don't know which paper you're talking 'bout"
even though no one listens 
and they can see that the fat lady with pullin out corn rows and two
tone jeans 
has been waiting just as long
and that the viejito with hair taking over over his ears 
has been waiting twice as long
and they sigh and think at least 
today is pay day
even though money is tight thank god for small blessings
these tias, our
soldiers on the front lines of the war with beaurocracy.

Pay Day 
is the day
my little brother
picks up his $179.65 from his rich white boss
and goes to the store owned by rich white people
to buy clothes designed by rich white people 
(but sewn by a spic like me for 45¢ an hour.)
Then he gets back on the A train and the rich white people trickle out 
before the brown can smack them uptown
[Watch the closing doors cause you might get caught in Harlem]
until he is back here on the block with $3.50 left in his pocket
and the police who his tax paid for 
stop him cause he is wearing the clothes made by the rich white people 
(but  sewn by a spic like me for 45¢ an hour)
and this policeman sez    
"you fit the description of somebody who robbed a
 rich white person on 112th"
but I tell them its more like he fits the description of somebody who
got robbed
by a rich white person named Tommy Hilfiger

They just look at me and stare
take his ass down to the precinct for 'questioning'
but I think the question was really    
why did my lil' bro come home with speed bumps on his head

	"no comment, routine procedure"
	"no comment, routine procedure"

I guess they only got questions over there   
cause answers are in 
short supply.
                                    by la guarani

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