AIR JORDANS (3 of 24)

I like my AJs dirty, 

like I had to run through the mud 

in all-white tube socks to get em 

and back through the mud to get to the 

court. I like my laces without the aglets, 

polyester spraying from the ends of 

tightened bunny ears, drooping to the pavement. 

I like my AJs scuffed at the toes and without soles. 

I like my Jordans two sizes too big and bloody 

like the blood my brothers spilled to cop some air 

so my brother couldn’t get a pair of his own. 

I like to pump my fist and tug on my shorts 

and drive with my tongue out. I like my AJs, 

1s and 3s and 4s and 5s and 6s, retro just like me. 

I like my AJs clean, 

so clean they stay in the box. So expensive, 

it was a limited drop. I like my AJs to fit 

so tight that they pinch me at the toes. 

I like em so shiny that I can see my 

smile in the patent leather on my 11s. 

I like my Jordans dancing in the sunlight

like an Audemars Piguet watch, seeping

onto the amber varnished hardwood floor. 

I like to stand outside on cold nights, for 

AJs with icy bottoms. I like my Jordans bred, 

through and through. I’d like to fuck you up, 

if you step on my shoes and I’d like to buy me 

some more, if it helps me feel cool. 

Somewhere, deep in the inner city, 

where niggas don’t fly all too often, 

is a tale of two Air Jordans and 

the same river that runs through them 

both. Made for the sky, destined 

for the ground. Gravity laughs, but 

there is a soul in those soles. 

I want my AJs to make me feel like I’m flying, 

like a P-51 Mustang fighter plane, ripping 

the sky in half. I want to be skybound, stuck 

and drifting like a cloud, waiting to rain 

down and wash away my problems. I want 

my AJs to make me feel like a falcon, like the wind 

beneath my wings holds the weight to keep me up. 

I want to levitate, soar, and walk on air like Jordan, 

suspended above the earth, free from worldly laws. 

I want the world to stop when I jump, my split legs

propel me like Mike, gravity be damned, I defy it,

for the love of the game. Red and black toebox piqued 

off the edge, I’m on the brink, overlooking the abyss.  

Look to the sky, ready to fly, come fly with me. 

Jump man, Jump man. 

Jumpman.