how big is an iota…

honey
mrs jones
is
so full of grace
she
can’t say
a harsh word
about
anyone
well
mr jones
is somewhat
of
an exception
but
that’s
just because
she loves him so much
that said
even those
lying ass racist politicians
in
washington
don’t
get
a reverse blessing
from
her
she just says
they must have
some
good in them
lord
there are times
when
i just want to shake
some sense
into
that woman
and
say
there ain’t no way
those
spawns of satan
have
one iota
of
goodness in them
and
don’t start up on me
with that
god’s gonna punish
the wicked stuff
cause
i don’t see
any reason why
the divine
is punishing
the rest of us
while
those fools
are above ground

buried alive…

with
few
or
any plants
in
this desert community
one
wouldn’t expect
much
employment
for
yard workers
especially
with
cacti
and
gravel
dominating
the yards
and
rental lots
where
snowbirds
roost
for
the winter
but
jose
and
his young son
always find
enough work
to
subsist on
employed
by
an array
of
elderly minded folks
who
openly say
he
should go back
to
mexico
he’s seen
their upside down flags
those
markers
of
american traitors
and
knows
that they are
credulous supporters
of
the wall
but
not supporters
of
fair wages
they
don’t want
to
pay
the local scale
for
work
so
jose’s hired
all the while
being
denigrated
and
subjected to
mindless
political ramblings
but
once paid
he walks away
looking
back
at the rows
of
mobile homes
inhabited
by
snowbirds
smiles
says
to his son
they live
in
shallow graves

letting go…

for years
mary lou
worked
for
the town’s
only
doctor’s wife
taking care
of
her children
preparing meals
cleaning
her house
and
ushering away
the numerous
gin bottles
scattered
all over the house
like
dust bunnies
so
the good doctor
wouldn’t find them
but
this refined lady
let mary lou go
saying
women like her
needed
one of those
foreign housekeepers
not
just
an old colored lady
so
mary lou
let go too
of
all
those well-kept
secrets
all over town

 

 

nonabrasive…

you nod
your head
when
we speak
but
you don’t hear us
that
painful look
of
understanding
on
your face
won’t
be
your saving grace
it
just shows
that
how
we speak
makes you
believe
you know
something about us
fictitious facts
drawn
from all those
historical
stereotypes
but
you
don’t know
us
the subdued sounds
of
our voices
conceal much
and
only
reveal
what
we wish
to be seen
verbal
camouflage
masking out
the sound
of
a fuse
that’s
already
been
lit

is you stupid or what…

ain’t that something
there you are
with
your golden brown skin
lying next to
a body
bleached
by
evolution
a body
that wants
to look
like you
and
you
want to act
like her
so you’re
sunbathing
on the deck
baking
in the summer sun
she’s sure
to look like
a red lobster
from this
blistering sun
and
when
you’re done
you’re
sure
to resemble
an
over baked
pie crust
so
at the end
of
the day
your goals
will have moved
further apart
since
you’ve both forgotten
how
the eyes
of
history
see you

texas border walls…

sun weights against skin
pushing down upon the mind
sweat tastes of sorrow
staring at dried human forms
caught in sand and human fears
human fears of sand castles

playpens…

traditionally
a square shaped space
with
solid bars
resembling
a cage
no
flexibility
in
the range
of
movements
but
was excellent
at
teaching
the lesson
that
there was no way out
but
the old-fashioned
bar design
is
long gone
now
modern designs
provide
flexible walls
and
a clearer view
of
what’s beyond
the
horizon
thus
facilitating
the illusion
of
freedom
this sense
of
freedom
can be enhanced
by
a variety
of
extra features
added
to
this
stagnant environment
options
that are
entertaining
and
distracting
thus
heightening
the belief
that all things are possible
but
like
all social playpens
the function
remains
the same
to maintain
confinement
thereby
safety
for
the ruling class

 

 

resolute…

you’re hell bent
on
ignorance
unwavering
in
your pursuit
of
dominance
over
anyone
in order
to
conceal
the paltry state
of
your existence
each slur
from
your lips
reveals
your fears
and
that
you have
and
are
nothing

 

 

human rights…

i shall be dead soon
but my human rights will still
be an unborn child

 

 

voter fraud and other unicorn sightings…

tell
the dead
whose
eyes
are
wide open
not
to
stare
at
the world
that’s
been
created
nor
speak
with
dried lips
about
what
has been
done
to
the earth
they inhabit
nor
those
unkept promises
made
when their lungs
filled
with
air
promises
about
freedom
those with
empty
lungs
may choose
to
ignore
the flood
of
apologies
that
serve no purpose
to those
interred
but
provide
political
fodder
for
those feeding
on
dreams
of
what can
never
be
nor
should
be