roses are red, nigga
Posted by Marion Smallwood | Filed under Poetry, Print
did she curl around your fist, quiet,
obedient strands of hair under your fingernails.
you said real men can’t keep their hands clean.
was her weight submissive and pretty, dragging, wearing that lipstick,
looking like a girl i once knew.
was her throat soft and ready, did your hands fit around it.
was it a surprise, how did you ask her, did she say yes, did she scream.
you know–that’s legally binding in some states.
i promised not to look if he was hurting her
on the street, scaring her into a ball at the bottom of the steps.
i promised not to listen, not to intervene,
to hold my tongue.
but i said that i’d be very upset
and you said you would be too. you said you would be too.
could you see her lipstick peeling,
her palms open in surrender, her goose-flesh shaking.
did she tell you she loves you
without meaning it,
she didn’t mean it. you didn’t mean this.
she looks just like a girl i once knew.
