ON POOR WHITE PEOPLE

there are moments i think about them
mostly i don’t but sometimes i do
think about when i was called boot bottom
by the creased upper and the scuffed heel
and the lace untaped untied a frayed
tentacle of thread loose and lackluster

there are moments i think about them
mostly i don’t but sometimes i do
think about how at some point we were all
cobbled together but it was me who was
called threadbare and flimsy bound to melt
on hot tar thin out from journey

there are moments i think about them
talking to me like they fedora feather
like they pocket square and windsor
like they tab and pleat break and crease
like we ain’t all down here as essential
outcasts from the onset completing this outfit

this purple pimp suit
like we ain’t all down here squeaking
and breaking and wearing and tearing
making sure the bare feet of america
never knows the intimate feeling of marching
on the fingers of the world aflame