A melodic poem by Eddie Bell.
Slow Dragging at a Grind 'em Up
Low lights, sometimes red
The basement dark, a preferred state for sanctioned love,
physical and imaginative
Social maneuvers among brothers and the ladies,
both young, and oh so willing
The 45s on the record machine making come hither sounds,
slow, moving, sweet
Bodies close, cheek-to-cheek; legs entwined and rubbing
The record over, the partners pop apart
heated and sweaty, satisfied
A momentary pause, the next song probably a mambo,
too fast to cling on that imaginary dime
Some dudes swing to the rapid beat
And others lay for the next slow drag.
Eddie Bell is an eclectic poet that writes in an accessible voice that illuminates his world of blackness and love. His work is often biographical and always descriptive of what his eyes beholds in people and the natural things of beauty and wonder. Black-life and its history and realities are foremost in his poetry that doesn’t shy away from his spirituality. Eddie is a retired university administrator and world traveler who resides in Charlotte, NC.