The Libertarian asks me what do I think of Kamela and what she said in the debate about Biden I do not believe you are a racist, she said before taking him apart for cozying up with segregationists I say I am behind the criticism of his policies— how can I support Biden he interjects, if he's a racist? I've been down this road before with the guy energized by the discovery that people on the left vote for racists as if that makes me and him the same there are moments in history, she said when states fail to preserve the civil rights of all people I forget to pivot to the story of the racism we share I return to local candidates running on conviction and compassion but he prefers to crow over my hypocrisy for a few minutes, sitting with him on his porch, I am lost it feels like I am arguing with a man who want to fuck the people who bother him I take him in, bearded motorcycle lover with a good belly living in a comfortable suburban home in an all-but-gated community an answer to a question that was lingering in my head Kamela and that little girl was me.
I don't know these people, and they don't know us. I've never seen them around here, don't know what they are about. Maybe I should run. I want to do things! but campaigning is a waste of time.
Puritans thought they were God's chosen. But they weren't completely sure. To think you know God's mind is sinful, you see — so, really, the Puritans were elected by God to sit with the possibility that they were not chosen.
I don't know about politics. Are we Democrats? Yes! says her brother, from inside the house, loud. He can't vote, she explains, with his felony convictions. This is the best yard, I say. The parking lot in front of her building licks the desert foothills. It will be so beautiful in the winter. Today it is hot and brown. Her sons play around us. A football arcs over her head. I don't know what a Democrat is, she says. Whoever is on the side of poor people has my vote! I say the choice is clear, and it is. But no one running for anything in this race looks like her — They do not have her smile, her shape or her style. Silky curls, thick energy. She's wearing a deep yellow t-shirt with black letters: QUEEN.
weatherbeaten house perched on a mound of rock and dirt curtains pulled tight against the sun Chrysler gathering dust shirtless with a belly full of rage he moves his body into the light gives me an earful about taxes he's never earned enough to pay
she is the one I am looking for but he opens the door I see her behind him a long arm’s length a smile on her lips I ask the question and it’s a trigger he hates them all dems and libs riots in Seattle child molesters hunter biden china china china molotov cocktail she slips into shadow before I learn which way she leans
I'm sick don't have time for these calls I'm afraid of civil war I hate them both because she's a woman and black am I a racist? I would vote green if I could but I can't every time you don't hang up it's a surprise
reach down a lung bottom out at an inch knife and pin wet concrete does my voice sound thin? Regeneron! blessing from god not since Abraham Lincoln has anyone done what I have done with all of you and your prayers
a storm comes for the body puts that taste of metal in the mouth shivers, twitchy muscle the self dissolves into a fog which is a kind of grace but then it congeals into solid form and wraps its grip around the throat do not be afraid hormone crisis, hardwired terror empties the bowels
he turns the tv on and off has a hamburger and a freakout cook and valet butler and body man hair and make up ultraviolet light bleach he moves deeper and deeper into the house cleans it out