Free Bronx Masquerade by Nikki Grimes

sign say?”
Read me any way you choose.
Only please, stop asking
“What’s his problem?”

Tyrone
    The world ain’t but one big surprise after another. Just look at Raynard. Or look at Steve. That white boy got more up his sleeve than anyone would guess. I ain’t lying.
    Yesterday me, Wesley, and Sterling got up to do a cipher for Open Mike Friday and here come Steve, jumping up to join us. I laughed out loud. Didn’t even try to hide it. I ain’t never seen no white boy do no free-style poem. You know how hard that is? One person starts a poem, then the next guy has to step into the rhythm, pick up the poem where the first guy left off, and keep it going. Then, after a while, the third guy steps in, if there is a third guy, and he takes over, and then the fourth guy, and so on. You go round and round and round like that, long as you can keep it tight, or until somebody finishes off the poem, or you get tired. Whatever.
    Me and Wesley usually team up, going back and forth, with Sterling on guitar layin’ down the beat. Sometimes we let Chankara jump in. She ain’t half bad either, but then, she’s a sister. What you expect? But Steve? Please. So of course I laughed.
    “Boy,” I said. “Sit your white butt back down before you hurt yo’self.”
    “Give the guy some slack,” said Sterling. See why we call him Preacher?
    “Yeah, brother,” said Steve.
    “You hear this white boy?” I said. I’m thinking he must like to take his life in his hands.
    Wesley studied Steve a minute. “The question is, do you flow?” I figured that would be the end of it, ’cause I was sure Steve wouldn’t even know what the brotha was talking about. How could he?
    “Yeah,” said Steve. “I flow.”
    “Guys?” said Mr. Ward. “Today?”
    I shook my head. “Yeah, okay, Teach.” I cut my eyes at Steve, betting this boy had never done a cipher in his life.
    “Just try to keep up,” I told him. “Y’all ready?”
    Preacher set up the beat, and we took off.
    And guess what? That white boy can flow. Makes you kinda wonder ’bout his family tree, now don’t it?
    What else can that boy do that I don’t know about?

OPEN MIKE
    News at Five
    BY TYRONE BITTINGS, STEVE ERICSON, AND WESLEY “BAD BOY” BOONE
     
     
    There be people in this land who want to take me out
But I will not leave the planet earth without a shout.
You may think you know me well, but let me set you
straight.
Let me strip away the lies before it gets too late.
News at Five has got you thinking I was born to steal.
Blacks are menacing, they say, as if their talk’s for real.
Brothas packing 45s work hard to prove them right.
Thanks to them, nobody’s granny can go out at night.
But if Five-O checks my pocket, they will find no piece.
I’m a rapper, not a shooter. Words are my release.
I believe in Martin’s power, though the King is gone.
But the last I heard, “I Have a Dream” keeps living on.
So will I, because no matter what the papers say,
I will hold on to tomorrow. I am here to stay.
     
    I am here to stay, yo. I am here to play, yo.
    Well, the ball is in my court, because I’ve come to play.
I am Steve, although they call me Dough Boy every day.
I will not apologize because my eyes are blue.
I am cool with being me just like you’re cool with you.
By the way, just ‘cause you brothers put the H in hip
doesn’t mean some of us white boys can’t pick up a tip.
I can get down on the get-down. I know how to flow.
I be checking out Dr. Dre too, if you must know.
But enough of that, ’cause I’ve got something on my mind.
I have seen the News at Five and here is what I find:
There ain’t nothing good on teens, don’t matter where you
look.
Black or white, screen time is strictly for the teenage crook.
Hear them tell it, drugs and violence is our only song.
For myself, I think it’s time that we all prove them wrong.
     
    I am here to stay, yo. I am here to play, yo.
     
    Now it’s my turn ’cause you