POETRY

I wake early, so to have the house alone. I walk downstairs to the hum of appliances and the absence of voices,  Then outside for the dogs. The light is different, baring the end of summer, Something is changing. Tomatoes burst on their branches from too much rain,  They are no good this year.  How lucky, we have rain, to douse the grass, the weeds, our roofs. I tuck a coin of guilt into my heart as I think of the parched and burning west.  I close my eyes and send the rain to them.

Because she is.She must be a thing.Because she's brown.She must be a thing.Because she's black.She must be a thing.Because she was born a man.She must be a thing.Because she acts like a man.She must be a thing. Because she's a thing,She is part of my dominion.Because she's a thing,She must be controlled.Because she's a thing,I will do what I want.Because she's a thing, What she is doesn't matter.