Sergio CC poem for hobbes i have always loved to watch a white man hustle, all penny rich and time poor, like she when he’s coming home for supper and won’t be pleased if she burns the grits, like my mom pulling the laundry home on its string before sundown, or like their last shot at liberty will puff away with the train if they’re two minutes behind schedule but there’s no escaping coercion; a fearful yes is still affirmation a reluctant slave is a slave is a slave is a slave named toby, rachel, named leah called sally, called hobbes. who contests their autonomy these days? the rushing white men. the virtue signalers? the heroin addictions devouring the midwest like a crave case, or is it the natural world imploding around them the plummeting market their women publishing exposés on their impotence, on the coercion they enact on their others and where are they scrambling to get anyway? a slave is a slave is a slave is a slave even the ones who call themselves master i have always loved to watch a white man hustle rush like an ant to a mound of pixy dust spilt at the feet of a pitiless child rush like an ant to its slaughter Jabulile Mickle-Molefe is a diviner based in Chicago writing essays and poems which handle heavy themes carefully, and which are often rooted in myth or philosophy. This is her second poetry publication. Her work is forthcoming in Petrichor Journal and Triangle House Review.
1 Comment
Mimi
4/18/2020 08:47:19 am
Love this! And if he has a problem with burnt grits, he can cook them himself. Otherwise, complaining might get him a round of grit ball (ask Al Green).
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