to T. Dwight
A pack of wolves follow me home
through the back alleyways.
Jameel is a girl’s name, they laugh
as a hand snatches my bag.
Liars, I shout, with the same tone
I’ve heard at sermon. I do not
have to say anything but I do
just in case I rely on it in court.
The fight breaks out, splitting the earth
between us. The battlefield trees
in the background pretend to be dead.
They know that life is actually simple.