the people i like never say
“oh i can never spend
too much money on you”
or
“oh sometimes i steal
your toni morrison novels
to read when you’re away”
or
“hey i was driving
in the neighborhood
and since i know you like
riding around
i thought i’d come get you
to ride with me
and listen to chuck berry
singing about riding around
with no particular place to go
even though this will waste gas”
no
i get the ones who
work hard to prove
they are THAT asshole
as if i have never
met assholes before
and i forgot
i have an anus
and can aim a mirror
back there if i really cared
to meet an asshole
because if i must
trust an asshole
to do right by me
it would be my own
no
that would be too easy
so instead i open my closet
i get my freakum fashion on
(ALL BLACK EVERYTHING)
and i open my silver
bulletproof suitcase
and pull out a tiny silver box
and press a domed silver button
and like michael bay’s decepticon
the asshole radar detector 9000
mutates into being
(but to me
it looks like
a makeup
mirror)
and i sit waiting
trying to radiate safety
and calm
and quiet
and intelligence
and gentleness
and more quiet
and happiness
and curvaceousness
(wait how do you radiate that)
and and and
in other words
to the discriminating eye
i do not look like an angry
black will-cut-you-
if-you-cross-me
full-figured woman
i look more like
your super fly black
librarian
and then THAT asshole
comes over and farts
directly in my lovely
blushed shadowed
glossed and powdered
face and asks me
“why didn’t you say
excuse me?”