Southern Cities

We are a City, not a Town.
Because a Town is
camaraderie barbecue a white sheet
Smaller than we are.

We are a sprawling pseudo-metropolis.
Our City is
tradition isolation a thrown rock
Filled with People.

We are tens of thousands among billions.
The People are
masked enraged filled with rot and maggots
Polite and Hospitable.

The Postcards

Wishing you were here.

she still sends postcards
a procession of colors
and places i will never see
from a lover long gone.

Wishing I was there.

Chinese Class

She is laughing,
Her eyes disappearing into her face
Like animals into their burrows.

It is funny to her,
That I am flawed: That I can understand
But not comprehend.

I speak to her with my
Flat Southern Drawl (Immediately Stereotyped- A cartoon of myself)
And wrestle with sounds like ‘tshahi’.

The trouble is that I
Always understand what she says, and without me
No one else would.