THE DULL METAL TEETH OF MY MIND ​

​

Inside me is a tiny white woman.
I pretend I’m not her, but it’s tricky.
She has my ashy gray hair and my yellowish teeth,
and she is absolutely, unequivocally, me.
It started the day I was born
when my father made a nest for me of $10s and $20s
to keep me safe in the burnt orange station wagon
and went straight back to work to get more.
I am brought to you by Benjamin Franklins and Andrew Jacksons
grinding against each other in my grandpa’s wallet.
My personal brand runs beside my body in giant Hokas
attached to an IV drip of White Claw and Benadryl.
I add to cart a “Human Rights Are Non-Negotiable” shirt.
I wear my shirt proudly so everyone can see how much I love human rights.
I add to cart joggers shouting “Supply” on the crotch from SupplyandDemand, Inc.
I add to cart when I vaguely want salt and vinegar almonds.
I add to cart red hair dye scrolling photos of Tori Amos.
I add to cart a giant swimming pool for my only child and the neighborhood kids.
I add to cart the blow up avocados and unicorns they ride into the future.
The software asks me: How do you want to receive it?
In this place where we all live
that we made for each other
where a dead economist’s demonic lie assures us
that caring for strangers is a luxury
the market won't bear.