I never take

no for an answer, the lifetime
guarantee for what it is, the signs

that read Closed or No Rooms
to Let
at face value. I never think
I’m not up to the job, not enough

qualified, never doubt I’m the one
who may stand in front of a classroom
to teach you. I never back down, turn

around, roll over, put up when it
just isn’t the right thing to do.
History repeats itself: its lies

about luck, its whitewashes, its dull
prescriptions. I’m tired of being told
to mind my place, defer to some

old boys’ club of secret handshakes;
I didn’t sign up to take the fall
again and again for someone else.

 

In response to Via Negativa: Things.

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