america

Last Tuesday, I found you riding his dick.

You arched your back and parted your lips and I knew

rain was coming.

I still remember the way you tasted, like the

promise of freedom smeared with blue lipstick.

I showered you with nice things to keep you quiet,

patted your head when you should’ve kissed my knuckles.

Your plump red hips left welts on my hands every time I touched you,

my palms stained with the memory of bigotry and hatred,

things that you adore so much.

And I tried my best to forget that you were white,

tried to fold the constitution into a restitution for all the people

you slaughtered when I forgot to tell you I love you.