Academic Warning

When I realized I forgot it,

My mother’s signature forged on a carbon line,

It was too late. 

When I got home, I found it taped to the garage door 

By a single piece of my father’s duct tape. 

Back then before emails and social media, 

Teachers trusted us, 

Believed a progress report stuffed at the bottom of back packs

With old homework and pop quizzes, would make it into the hands of parents.

I studied my mother’s signature every time she wrote a check 

At French Novelty, J. Byron’s, The Casual Corner. 

How she curved her B’s, the way the L’s looped in her last name. 

Unlike math, learning to write in cursive was an artform 

Taught to me by Mrs. Rackard, whose voice was as soft as her jerry-curl. 

Over the years, my mother’s signature has weakened with age. 

The letters aren’t as tethered together, but I can still replicate it

With queen-sized B’s and loops in the L’s of her last name

With great precision. 

Man- Bun

I couldn’t help but notice this guy sitting in the café in front of me

He had long, golden hair that draped down his back. 

Normally, I’m not into long hair on men

All that dangling in my face, tickling my ass,

Grabbing a handful as I fuck him from behind with Cialis in my dick

It’s all too much.

When he stood up to pack his things, 

I had to say something. 

“Excuse me. I love your hair. It’s beautiful. 

He smiled and thanked me. 

I’ve seen him again since then

This time that golden mane done up in a tight man-bun. 

Helpless

Skipped having drinks last night

Seeing as how I was in no mood 

To be in a bar full of queers talking 

About other queers in the bar 

When a mother in Gaza struggles 

To get food for her child. 

I went home, 

Contemplated making art

While feeling helpless as hell. 

Bully

The last time I saw my cousin, Darrin

Was at the burial of my Aunt Lurine. 

It wasn’t a sad funeral.

I didn’t cry when they lowered her into Southside Earth.

Instead of wrapping me with a hug, he shook my hand 

As if I was simply a friend of the family.

Didn’t show me the same kind of love as those

My kin folks give on my father’s side. 

Maybe it had something to do with my being queer.

If so, I don’t want to know. 

Growing up he was never much of a cousin.

Maybe because he was older than us and was never around. 

Too cool to spend time with a bunch of babies.

He was worse than any bully I ignored in school because he was family.

Teasing and picking until I had no choice but to fall into a fight

Which I always lost because Darrin was the oldest, the strongest.

He knew how tender the skin of a shy boy was.

My mother asked if I remember chasing him with a knife in my grandmother’s backyard.

All that anger I would have cut him for sure.

I don’t know why my aunt left him the most out of her money. 

He never wrote her letters or sent her poems. 

I imagine with all the trouble that has plagued our brood,

He will either see me at my funeral,

Or I’ll see him at his.

Breakfast Burger

I was going to order 

The breakfast burger

But thought if you saw my crummy Name on the ticket,You might spit in it