French Roast, La Silencia Resistencia in California
My cup of coffee has gone
stale in the late afternoon and it hits
me as the cloudy stuffiness of suburbia creeps
through the kitchen screen door:
assault is a part of the social stream
a chokehold, a lump of saliva
wedged against the back of my throat.
Hues are heavy against the chest when
news cycles saturate the temporal lobe—
along state lines men and women are fettered
against wire, children …