lima, peru
"another victory
they can't get with me
so pick a b.c. date
cuz you're history"
-big daddy kane
i. the square in barranco, at ten pm.
legs spin, arms fling,
muscle made springs, then hands plant,
the bottom of the body twirling
around the axis of
a torso's corkscrew.
shadows speak in baile negro,
pisco sours make potent puddles
for street dogs to quench their thirst.
a quartet of dancers, flanked by
two rappers
with too many answers,
and a delicate boombox older than the nazca lines
pummels a strangely familiar beat,
from a faraway street
on the other side of the equator,
where warriors they don't even know
have come out to play, and have their say,
marking weed-worn, broken-bottled turf
with spray paint tags more cryptic
than plutonian hieroglyphics.
moonbeams mingle in baile blanco,
as alleyway anticuchos make snacks
for the homeless to feast on.
ii. the square in barranco, at ten-ten pm.
"once upon a time began your pathetic fairy tale
masquerading as a clever rhyme
you're like a boat without a sail
a train that has no rail
allow me to detail your scavenger ways
you're nuthin but a vulture that preys
on the poetics of others all you compose
is silly about as original
as a double live album by milli vanilli
just proceedin, willy nilly lackin the skilly
as i burn ya with the microphone like jolokia chili
towa has been kickin rhymes since the days
of motown philly boys II men but you're more like
boys II babies spewin lyrics toxic like rabies
when i hear em my ears just get scabies
no ifs, ands, or maybes as i dominate like crazy
your outlook is mad hazy as i dance around your set
like swayze go ahead and shine my shoes
clean my house wash my dishes
cuz your style is suspicious, pernicious, never nutritious
your weak delivery makes me cringe real bad
forget about candyman, son, because towa be like
the worst nightmare ya ever had
you try to rhyme right cuz it's a fad
but not from the heart and soul
as i rap like glad not plastic never spastic
always soundin fantastic with the verbal gymnastic
doin flips and somersaults around these emcees
who flaunt their wannabe rap degrees
but all they really got are geds
meaning good enough diplomas
i leave them in a trail of dust
from greenland to oklahomas
get under your skin like lymphomas
stage four tumor there is a rumor
that i leave the competition in bad humor
they would sooner go to the arctic and freeze
than try to tangle with the likes of these
because towa can innovate
like cars and the japanese
bearing witness
to all these tragic excuses
for eloquent soliloquies."
iii. the square in barranco, at ten-twenty pm.
i continue to stare, eyes as placid as puddles
after a hard rain, wanting to battle rap
in spanish,
but the ability to translate such boasts
starts to vanish. the breakers break,
the rappers rap, the growing audience
starts to clap, then,
in scarcely a snap,
it is all over
and
i can return to my map.
