THUG

the ones you shake your head at
the ones you cross the street for
the ones you edit out of the picture
every other day of the year
the ones whose neighborhoods
you greenscreen into either
a warzone or a paradise in your mind
the ones you’ve given forked tongues
for having slick mouths
the ones who order wings
from behind bullet-proof glass
the ones with secret handshakes
and heiroglyphic-stained skin
the ones who are loud all the time
who you still don’t hear
the ones you’ve given horns
the ones we’ve all given bricks
we’ve all given up on

let me ask you
when was the last time
you went to one of
the ones
and asked

baby, what’s the matter?
baby, what’s wrong?