I can’t imagine that goofy white woman
with you. Her pink skin on your dark.
Your tongue on hers. I can’t
imagine without laughing.
Who would’ve thought.
Not her ex-boyfriend—
your good ol’ ex-favorite best buddy,
the one you swore was thicker than kin,
blood white brother, friend—
who wants to slit you open like a pig
and I don’t blame him.
Isn’t it funny.
He acting Mexican.
You acting white.
I can’t imagine this woman.
Nor your white ex-wife. Nor any
of those you’ve hugged and held,
so foreign from the country we shared.
Damn. Where’s your respect?
You could’ve used a little imagination.
Picked someone I didn’t know. Or at least,
a bitch more to my liking.