stubble-head trans girl summering on rollerblades
w/ shades over her fishgutted eyes.
presenting earnest palm open hoping for change
and charitably charading a smile.
other street creatures lurk dejected and slit-eyed.
Kicking Mike and Art Paul talk love n bide time
knowing her life worthless and so is mine.
I shake my head. I give the same line:
no change today, sorry. she expected no less.
do I love her? yes and yes and yes and yes but
she skates on to the other dispossessed
and Art Paul throws her a buck. (the best
of us). I have everything and nothing to give.
forgive me, I am just waking up
to cyclical accidents determinative
of her pain and my birth, a mix-up
of invisible neoliberal strings. fate?
no. I go cook for my brother
and pretend it’s for her, another
happywhite lie. again I'm too late.
cdzhouse 