ask a creature of contradiction
and unfathomable mathematics
about the paradox of
how does a man better himself
in the same sentence he uses ‘bitch’?
preceding praise for promiscuity.
maybe you’re only saved from the mayhem
by thinking from the basement.
Cole slides out the front of a Bentley—
rented; true power is spending money
on transient glamour—and their eyes
meet in the meat of the avenue.
he ain’t headed nowhere in particular
she’s in the area for him
you can hear bluebirds somewhere
she can still unravel the fact that
he says the word bitch eight times
in the first five minutes of meeting
two of those times he whines awake
that he should stop
but they aren’t even the last two
she doesn’t care
if anyone needs rescue last, it’s her
she smiles at every scratch of wit
asks coquettish for an autograph
a pic for the ‘gram
he takes a blue sharpie to her chest
barely smiles into the camera
someone shouts across the street
that she should stay away from him
he waves the shout off as haterade
as the girl-god distends her jaw
don’t save her