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