Let’s talk about America.

 

Let’s talk about us and that thing we do

when our cabernet tastes more rotten than fermented,

and we decide we need something a little stronger

to take the edge off.

 

Let’s talk about those nights after the club where the sweat

drips down the queer's forehead as they back into the alley

and grab our wrists and push us away amidst the

thumping bass of a song leaking from cracked doors.

 

Let’s talk about police. Let’s talk about juries. Let’s talk about

how they’re together so often they've conspired to wrap metal

around the black man's wrist, blow a kiss to the little white girl

with a cross on her neck.

 

Let’s talk about Trump.

Might as well, right? We won’t be the only ones

and we’re more responsible than the UK and

the women keep raising their signs on the streets.

 

I just want to take a moment to say I don’t understand,

I don’t understand, why someone’s worth is the amount in their bank account,

why every show insists on just one person of color,

why every song hints at this underlying electricity that buzzes

through veins until fists are arching, arching up, begging for

a hit against skin, a body cracking against pavement.

 

Let’s talk about America.

Tell me, what’s it like for you? Does it feel the same for you and me?

Because I’ve seen police cover body cameras but not stop the screaming,

women clench shaking jaws tight and pressing sticky palms to the ground

as they stand back up, the LGBT community dance like they did in the 80s

when the whole world wanted their blood

to turn against them.

 

America is intertwined between chains and trembling hands.

It seems more than a means to an end for us,

and I must have missed out on whatever gave people this urge

to back away from pleas instead of stretching out, fingertips poised

like they alone could bring some relief.

 

And is it nice, feeling the world twist their neck and scoff as

we flail out and draw red lines across the globe? Or is it awkward, looking down

and seeing the sweat staining our thighs when they shift away

and all that’s left is the history textbooks and memories of a country

being pressed against ours in solidarity?

 

Let’s talk about America.

Because that seems to be all there is to us, and I’m nothing if not

a conformer. So let's talk about us, just us, just you, your ideal America, our

real America,

because I need to know, I need to understand.

Let’s talk about America.

Please.