Tag: The New Yorker

A few poems that didn’t make the cut

The Weird Games Children Play

The kids play Marco Polo
without a pool
Their little hands flail wildly
in the October sun
No one is IT
Everyone chases the sound
of voices unsure
of what they’re trying to find

The Delivery Guy Is Dyslexic

243 is 234 to a keen set of eyes
buried in the head of an
amazing human being yet
try as I might
I can’t be in two places
at one time

However, he doesn’t know this
My food sits in front
of a neighbor’s door waiting
for me to retrieve it
I send a message through the
app explaining the dilemma

The digital approval of
a refund chimes in
I really just want to eat
what I ordered
without the hassle
|but I’m also empathetic to
the plight of one’s struggle
I’ll order again tomorrow

The Dog Does Not Approve of the New Arrangement

I was feeling frisky the other night
so I decided to rearrange the
living room furniture
Afterward, I cleaned and
noticed the dog focused on this
new maze inside her home

She does not approve

I nod satisfied with what I’d
accomplished and my little
friend huffs in disgust
She sniffs the furniture for clues
of sameness — I explain
everything is still here

She tilts her head up to
look in my direction and I can’t
help but feel as though I’m
being graded on my performance

I did not pass her test

This Is Not Bravery

I don’t think it brave to
exist in skin the color
of spilled lies and wake up
to a face that never changes

I didn’t ask to bleed the same
blood yet I do
and authorities Other me before
I can utter a word

It is not bravery knowing I
can die for making a sharp
right turn without a signal
in a car registered in my name
with all the updated paperwork

One false move and I
could be hashtagged

The type of privilege that offers
safety is what I envision
for everyone but centuries of
racism begs to have its
face at the ball of life
No one’s dancing . . .
we’re all too afraid to move

---

All poems were written in October 2021.

Originally published in CRY Magazine via Medium.