she’s a lesbian
reggae rapper
from Belize.
her name is K-.
but she calls herself
JUSTICE.
her
girlfriend
dumped her today,
saying things
weren’t working out.
so she’s looking
to move out
and is glad
that she still
has her fulltime job
at the porn shop
to rely on.
her birthday is
this Sunday.
upper management
has demanded
that I cut her hours
and get rid of her.
so
I tell her.
she cries
but not like
a girl;
it’s quiet
like a faucet leak
and she stares
straight at me.
and all I can do
is keep staring back
hypnotized by the hate
shinning in her eyes,
focused and reserved
purely for me.
Lifting up my full cup
of red wine and
cork screw particles
I think about
my mother and
her job
and her second job and
the fact that she’s
looking for a third
Putting down my empty cup
of substituted spit
and lesser amount of
cork screw particles
I think about
my father and
his job
and the fact
that he only gets
paid one dollar
over the minimum wage
barley affording to
continue to be poor
and I think about
my three brothers
and the fact
that they haven’t gone
a single day
unspoiled or hungry
I throw the cup
at the floor
and grab the bottle
by its neck
and drink
to the invincible
memory of unacknowledged
unwritten
heroes that I will
one day bury
