Obama is on the TV
I thought for a minute he was talking to me
But the world – on the TV – will always be there, right?
But our espresso machine is ready to go, right now
It gleams – at me
And I beam – at it
And I feel safe on our Ikea rug
Blowing air across my Costa Rican blend,
Robust, full-bodied, like a drug
More reliable than a human friend.
The door clicks behind you
And the house rearranges itself in the space you leave behind
Sounds like – ((sigh in))
And I wait to see
what the day will find
Because morning is open for business.
Morning had gotten up early next door
Widow weeping under an intolerant sun for the husband detained
Widow not really, except for a husband stained
He’s been detained
And the woman searches the bins
While the child sounds like I’m hungry
Next door to widow weeping
In the house that’s never sleeping
Live Mr and Mrs Don’t-know.
Mr Don’t-Know’s fist supposedly
Spelunked it’s way through Mrs Don’t-Know’s skull,
His foot canyoneering down her ribs
But we don’t talk of such things
Because we don’t really know.
Sounds like shhhhh
Next door to the Don’t Knows
Is the migrant woman who grieves.
Sounds like oh_ my_ god
And wears so much black that she is black and I feel black every time I look at her
Even though I’m white as a Barbie doll,
White as a diamond.
So white I sparkle and I offend myself.
In the middle of it all –
Like the world congealed
Because someone left the lid off compassion unsealed –
Is a park that curls up brown at the edges
Aint no kindness in these hedges
Just a brown park
Under a turquoise scrim
And in the screeching din
I kick off my shoes
and draw the curtains of my face.
I can smell the coffee from our house
A precise 30ml extraction of pure, washed Arabica beans
It makes me want to be smaller than I am
It draws me up, and it draws me in
And I feel myself rushing through the porta-filter
Getting smaller and smaller with all that hot air
Until all that is left is
I’m hungry_ Shhhh_ oh my God_ ((sigh in))