it’s where you live,
sultry smiling and sorrowful,
it’s where your son plays.
it’s where I gone to officially
lose my innocence cause
someone like you
didn’t want or understand me either

you live in the 21st world,
but to me
I can see only dirt-covered
farm face struggles,
your son on the ground, standin
smilin, but all I can see -
you holding him.
I see me refuse your money,
grab your smoothness tanness
arms, yes yes.
kiss like a movie though
I’ll never need to do that in my life.

I see you with a toned back,
blue peasant dress, rags,
really. I see your hair——-

But real is the look of debate
on can you spare that tip?
can you make small talk
with this chubby white
fucker? Can you
bring yourself to not cry
out, “Help me! Take my life and give it prosperity! Take my son and
give him peace!” as only such
a chubby white could do for you?
no you smile because
it reflects your essence.
synecdoche in your
flat stomach in your smile in
your Crack where you live.

I see you blow me a kiss smile after the door is not much but cracked.

Really all is just part of you.
Your hair brushed behind your ear,
closing the door with your pizza in the other
hand, still
still still
smiling.