Poetry

That’s Right

So, this sister throws herself against the vending machine, enacting the Oh hell no that shoots out of her mouth as she slams her ass into the machine, redoubles her efforts, shoving her shoulder into it. The force is enough to rock it back, but the bag of chips doesn’t fall. Goddamn, she grunts, laughs. This shit is stuck again. Her girlfriends laugh with her, say proudly, Look at this bitch! The fifth time, the snacks drop into the trough. She will begin to ache on the way home. After sitting on the bus for three hours, she might regret this aggression, but right now, she’s waited such a long time just to get these damn snacks for her man and her kids that her body becomes the fist she would thrust into any prison guards’ gut: Don’t nobody mess with this bitch.

Diversion

For two hours I have been listening to the women chatter all around us when my mom turns, whispers, Did you see those boots? I say No.But, follow the others’ gaze to the young sister rocking yellow snake skin stiletto boots and a matching outfit: tight school bus bright pants and black tank top. Our line hums with comments: Who wears that to see they man in jail? Another girl snickers, I bet they man say why you wasting my money on those damn boots? But some girls bite their dry lips as they watch her tip on down to the bus stop. She leans up against the shelter, so that every man can see.

Old Maid’s Rules

I look up to the girl who’s stuck with me. I want to tell her that my fate should not be feared ‘cause I get to do what I want when I want. But I don’t. Go ‘head, shuffle the deck again. Let me out. I move with viral speed from hand to hand. Each girl tries to play off disappointment when she gets me. They wince, shift me around, a foolish attempt to make me like all the others. Don’t they know that the deck is stacked against us? All of these cards have matches— the same color, the same number. Every time we play this game I watch them go off in pairs, happy to be chosen. I could give a damn.