Dead Adjective Walking

All the talls in the office were standing around the water cooler, sharing some interestings. The smarts had a meeting with the leaders about the tidys cleaning the desks midday. The funny tall kept making jokes about the lonely stinky, and the talls all laughed because we’re also all observants. The lighthearteds played music while we all worked, and it’s sound was enriching behind the loud buzz of all we represented. The lazy switched the channel to see the beautiful breaking the news story. She handed the interested over to the serious, who was live at the scene. A white had shot a black in Missouri, and the black had died. And then we all looked around, and we weren’t so tall anymore. We weren’t interesting, smart, tidy, funny, observant, or serious. And we certainly weren’t live at the scene. We were just blacks and whites, trapped in a box, like so many crayons. And the music sounded flat, because that was all we heard. And our vibrant colors faded, because that was all we saw.


What I Can’t Understand

Bobby got caught in the lot smoking pot
with DeWayne in his car in LA
Well, Bobby is fired and can’t get re-hired
But Dewayne, yeah, we put him away.
Tina’s a mom and she’s paying for school
but you know she’s still kind at her core.
Yeah, Tina just strips (at the moment) for tips
but that Ebony girl is a whore.

Tree of Life

We must be in more of this world. We must taste the Russian potatoes. Can’t you feel the Caribbean warmth on you back? Hear the calm static of the ocean? See the shore crashing violently against the waves? Can’t you taste the tahdig of Iran? Is it served with pears? Or is it eaten alone, with clean hands and dusty arms? Tell me, can you taste the sharp British yeast over the oily ink spotting your tongue? Japan will teach you to eat kudzu like a sweet bean sprout, but the American South will teach you that the east coast carpet tastes more like chemicals and pollution and (on the unluckiest of days) a hint of poison ivy. Is our fruit too plump and ripe to be held on the vine? Are these ever-expanding highways too vast for mere mapmakers? I tell you only once, fearful child: it is better to stand at the base of this fruit tree crying at the impossible choice and taste nothing but your own tears, than to step ever-further from the tree so as not to smell the rot of un-chosen fruit.


Always the footsteps down the hall

a forewarning mewl of her lover’s call

As the hallway light through the cracked door pours

on the creaking, glossy, wood-planked floors

The name spilling from her lips abhors

“Yes, daddy?”


Then the quietness in the dark returns

Little lace duvet that has been down-turned

And the sleep comes, graciously, with ease

when it’s done, and he has been appeased

Yet we still hear God’s voice in night’s breeze

True Daddy.