Family

by James Lee

 While MTV Jams is on my brother says,
"I wish that I was gangdungi born and raised
in the 'hood so I'd be down wit my niggaz
and shit, hell yeah, you know what I'm sayin'?"
The SAT books Umma bought for him
stay closed. I tell him he should study harder;
he answers, "Sheeit." The verbal isn't in
ebonics so he won't do as well as I.
Our umma cried, and smiled, when my scores came;
she cried, and cried, when all her schools still
said no and sentenced me to that poor-cousin
school up north for four years to life.
"Ah, kenchana, " our appa says while chewing
the kimchi I refuse to eat. He's heard
that Berkeley's famous too, so he can go
to bed and snore till five. He sleeps and eats
and works, and Umma says that he is noble.
My brother says he wants to sleep and eat
and work, and Umma says that he is lazy.
I snort my water up my nose because
I'm laughing so damn hard. But no more steaming
dinners that smell of spice and greasy meat-juice--
I eat the DC food 'cause eating is a habit.
Later I go back home--a new home 'cause
my parents used the cash they'd saved for Yale
to buy a bigger house. My umma smiles
at the nice view, my appa snores on top
a bigger bed, and, yes, my little brother
still wishes that he lived in the 'hood-and sheeit