Chapter 1
Bald. White hair coming out of ears?
Bald.
Every way that I stand,
bow-legged and hobbling.
Shoving grits-mixed-corn-pops
Into your mouth before the school bus-
Bald.
I see everything.
Eyes like microscopes.
Who is looking out for you?
By the time I am twenty I will be dead.
Three bleached bras hang on the clothesline,
Two of his sisters, one of his mothers,
He has none. Not since his surgery.
Marshal Mathers painted on a washed-out-bus
By the abandoned depot says “I could be one of your kids”
Well thanks, he is not.
He is fed up with eating corn puffs.
But all they have is that and the box
In the whitewashed cupboard
With the hinges that look like oxidized blood.
“While Epstein is jacking off to girls,
And I can’t find my Telehealth code,”
He says slow into the night’s pillow.
“Ohio, and Detroit.
They are all the same to me.”
He spits while kicking up the ice ridden rocks
On his way to his grandma’s trailer.
Lack of life, full of weather that has gone sour.
And curdled like a turd.
All the juice sucked out like a faded popsicle,
Rushing towards an inevitable-
Bald.
I see everything, eyes like telescopes.
Two bras hanging on the chicken wire I have not eaten today-
black flies in the kitchen
(cotton clings to the roof of my mouth)
song
plays over my white-haired ears.
No one is looking for you, who, who?
I see everything, eyes like a microphone, a tractor beam.
Amplifying all the white into the night.
