Benjamin Gorman
Controlled Temperature
A mild summer
all things being
relatives are far away
lovers moreso
beds cold
sweatier online than off
humid inside
masks and fogged glasses
and quarantine quarters
air still spicy from
lingering wisps of teargas
and heated by
the hot breath of
frightened white denial
that shouts so loud
with so few words
and the flames of
righteous Black rage
that waits so long
to burn so brightly
and the thousands of tiny
pathetic, flickering
hopeful stars of
another candlelight vigil
and another candlelight vigil
and another candlelight vigil
Feign
"We are much better
at teaching people
to feign confidence
so they can win arguments
than at teaching people to be
honest about insecurity so
they can let love in,"
he said
circuitously
with feigned confidence
to hide his insecurity.
Marching
White man
running late for the
Black Lives Matter march
401 years too late
desperately
scanning the car for sunscreen
wouldn't want to
hurt for this
wouldn't want to
burn
I pass
lines of men and women
picking fruit in the fields
how many not offered
humanity because
papers please?
How many could have
children thrown in
cages in concentration camps?
while they
burn
to feed families
theirs and mine?
Ours?
Where is my sunscreen, anyway?
They march
up and down the rows
their backs bent
worthy of more respect
demanding more recognition
of their dignity
and humanity
than my calendar entry
afternoon stroll for justice.
My event
was postponed after all.
Something about permits
not processed in time by
white bureaucrats.
Guess I missed the memo.
401 years too late
I walked through the city
with my sign
nodded at other white people.
All pleasant. No objections.
No one
burned.
We all smiled
behind masks
knowing the fruit would be
cheap.