Poem That Wants to Serve You Comfort and Despair

On the horizon we saw it: a spot

of racism. A little black boat full

of bitches, with BITCHES LOVE SONNETS

embroidered on the sail. Its haul

festered and boiled in our belly;

see, it wasn’t just the bad clams,

but a spectacular case of the clap.

This new system makes it easier

to track and to hasten our demise,

the future devoured from beneath us,

like the pitchblack timber of the bitch

boat, by cartoon termites who merrily

assert that it’s much harder to untie

a wet knot than a burning one.