Girl, he tried to touch me
in the middle of the crowd as if he’s the one
who’s been bleeding his whole life.
Trying to get my brown skin all up on his —
snake oil.
I see how he slithers past the signs
& coils around necks— the voices full of demands
that he constricts into a narrow
photo op.
my bosom: his shield
my arms: his refuge
liability buried between my breasts…
Nah.
I use his hubris for kindling.
I’m holding the match
& now—
ash.