Everyone likes it.
That’s not the point.
In America the ocean isn’t rising.
I allow the chicken
to be my stand-in.
For argument’s sake, I encompass
all chicken. All guns.
The thing about guns
is everyone is dying.
That’s not the point.
On Scandal
Olivia’s white President boo
says gun violence. That’s when
the chicken enters. I take
the liberty of assessing
the chicken as such: the wedge
between someone’s
forefathers, crispy hot threat
to sanctity. A monument.
Olivia’s in the white coat again
stunting in a wide collar
standing for the gall of us.
Everybody wants a taste.
Everybody’s dying.
Everybody wants a taste.
The chicken is sacred Black pussy.
The chicken invades your homes.
The chicken circles the truth.
The chicken can fly.
The chicken is how we riot.
The salt, the terror.
They should have never
brought us here.