We use animals to catch animals like 'fighting crime' in Chicago.
Shouldn't this be the point we think
about four fingers going in with a crooked thumb,
maybe rusting with whitlow,
taking hold of the silver on a sardine,
putting hooks through what supposed
to be its lungs should make us think
of Kentucky's Best & Reefer, not the buzz, but the carcinoma.
Our minds are never there; we are not that color people.
We call it entice or tackle, but we should turn on the balls
of our heels and head back home empty-handed.
Categories:
whitlow, abuse, angst, evil,
Form: Free verse
Mama, no more water whitlow, you do not scrub
Anymore, denim in zinc tub
Papa, paucity an’ bad choices are your end;
for years you hit hard rock with sledge-hammer
When flint stone split open eyeball
I bet you curse God in native tongue
You slipped out
‘fore Jesus an’ I
start healing them sick folks
Mama, no more, no more boiled banana water
You are two women
When bare feet …
cause big mouths to scorn the black boy,
big mouths like Limbaugh an’ Oriley,
you prophesied
When them nefarious streets looked at me,
like pupils fixed on them Arabs,
you barrowed broad shoulders
like a man,
but you are two women
Root fed branches
an’ leaves trapped sun light,
an’ create
so that root an’ limbs host
olive-throated parakeets,
noisy little broods
When the smell of mangoes went
I lost pursuit of purpose,
but now, there’s a morning fire
Mama, no more clothes to scrub,
just a sponge-bath in zinc tub,
in perfumed oil
Categories:
whitlow, mother
Form: Lyric