I hold these truths to be self evident

that this country is full of shit.

It sucks the marrow out
of our bones.
It makes a thick succulent gravy
out of us,
calls it Negro fusion cuisine.

Don’t confuse a beautifully set table
and a well worded invite with a welcome.

We are the meal.
We are the dessert.
We are what America
chews on with her back teeth
until we become dust.

Hide a fork in your starched white napkin.
When America turns her head

all the way around like a haunted barn owl.
Stab her in the jugular and remind her she is an Eagle.

Tell her in her left ear, you are a vulture,
A Black crow,
A hoodoo descendant,
A night woman,
A banshee,
A blood hound.

Tell America you are a woman
who has fantasized how to kill her
in the most inventive ways.

Tell America your song
will be the last song she ever hears.

It is be sung in the shrill key of a C-note,
a hot fevered pitched southern drawl
from the throat of a daughter that she forgot
she gave birth to.

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