• Endria Richardson


If they ask me, I will say yes I am still angry

even if I don’t want to be. 

Just let me stop this wild buffalo herd

from trampling all the skin off my back,

I never did think I would need it

to know what color my rage is. 

Yesterday i didn’t eat; I sprained both my feet

and buying food feels too much like standing up. 

I braced myself on a brick wall  in Brooklyn where I live,

but the 7:19, the 7:29, and the 7:33 must have come

down some other secret ghost street. 

The Latinos in the Bronx don’t like Brooklyn

because it’s too black.   

And my coworker’s from Queens, eats

arroz blanco con habichuelos and says

the Asians in her building brought the bed bugs

in their pink plastic bags. 

Over the bus intercom (at 7:49) there’s an announcement

to watch out for pickpockets everybody

eyes each other and the black boys in the back

suck their teeth to every mortal not in on the joke like theyselves.

Walking on one foot is reminding me to take my time

but if anyone tries to mug me a cripple

I don’t care what color whether we are brothers or hermanos

I’m not bound to anything but my dignity and my wallet.

I haven’t been grocery shopping in

almost two weeks. 

I ate cereal cus it was cheap but too much sugar

and not enough food is not for me

only the girls I work with say a Pop Tart for lunch is bueno

and nowadays i wonder not who taught or didn’t teach them

but how to teach to the bottom of a well

or rather,  fifteen depressed teenagers who can’t

shutup for one second because they haven’t

learned how to stop trying not to always be silent. 

I want to go home to Massachusetts but I am just

going back to Brooklyn.

Three girls, all jeans, makeup,

too much voice and not enough knowledge sit

across from me and I close my eyes

because there is nothing beautiful in poverty

and no love stirs in me today.

#bronx #Brooklyn #work #anger #race

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