Her accent pounds nails in wood,
rewrites boilerplate rules,
plucks the chicken of its feathers.
Her attitude communicates something Old Testament,
something Spanish Inquisition,
some atrocity teachers skip over teaching history.
She arrives with the carnival.
Whether sideshow barker or sideshow act is debatable.
She plants the sloppy kiss of colonialism on me.
I mean her kiss is a syrupy red-bliss
that leaves buzzards circling the bed
and me an emptied pinch-pot with a green glaze.
copyright © 2019 Kenneth P. Gurney