photo for La Palabra.a book of poems and photos about our bodies
No job, no pay, no way
In spite of
he can’t read in spite of
Roe v Wade
in spite and spit
on his feet,
in spite of feel retreat or kill
in spite of Gloria’s smile
gone south
in spite of we’ve been had
again, the ceiling low enough
to knock in spite of dancing
in high heels
it’s how we’ve been sad
again in spite of her no smile’s
the work’s begun
again and Susan B.
re fracking fucking and getting
bashed, again, in spite of spit
or shit this president
this fakeyumpalous, pretentious man
is not my pres
I choose decline
in spite of elves’ unholy
Never mine. Not now. Not ever.
Not mine.