I grab a #7 when I am my most depressed. Like today,
scarfing down a Crunchwrap Supreme to drown out
the dagger & twist from my lower back. Like when
the Baja Blast drowned out the Black boi asking
for anger to save them in my throat; my back hurts
in a country who wants to disable me. What feels
better than a hard-shell medicine, a lover (read: stranger)
asking if you need anything else. so I stuff my sadness
with hot sauce packets. My gifts come wrapped
in hexagons, too sexy for my pain. Weary needs
saving as much as it needs flavor & a country not bent
on Black suffering. What is your after-appointment fix?
Mine costs $7.22. Mine is fractures with enough
decency to come packed with straws and napkins.
What does your healing cost?
Health & Illness
an expression designed to call something to mind without mentioning it explicitly; an indirect or passing reference
a metaphor that extends through several lines or even an entire poem
a question asked for effect, not necessarily to be answered