A Golden Shovel for Langston

There used to be a time where life wasn’t such a grind. You could hold
the world in the palm of your hands and just unwind. Life was never too fast

and none of your dreams were ever too big; And the kids never had to
play any games with squids. The street-smart ones could manifest their own dreams

while the rest never really had to worry about getting their degrees. For
a young black man in Harlem, life was the epitome. Even when you started with rags, if

riches truly were desired—then nobody could impede your empire. You had dreams
of sticky hot summer days that were cool sprayed until the fire hydrants die,

while brisk winter nights were warmed by radiators stuck on walls like flies. Life
could change in the blink of an eye—if the numbersman came on walking by. He is

the gatekeeper for you to double your pockets and if one of your numbers hit, a
brotha’ might go buy himself a rocket! Haha! A man made bonds that’ll never be broken

and it was to his drum of which he marched to the beat. Langston you were elite; a winged
lion… the regal Pegasus of East One Twenty Seventh Street. There is no bird

that could ever eclipse the heights that you soared; and even if one tried, then that
bird would still never reach as high; because mere mortal creatures like birds cannot

become legendary when they die. All they could do during their lifetime is fly.

K. T. Reid is an African-American male writer living in Texas. He hopes to have his first full length project/collection published early to mid-2023.