“In the thin, soured soil,
a perfect endurance…” ~ Anna Ross

And what if I refuse to answer
to the order to stop and be searched,
to come like a dog with its tongue
hanging out when summoned

with two fingers of one hand?
And what if I refuse to open
my doors without warrant,
to get over it, to see

it was only a joke, just
a test, one more invisible
hoop to jump or be jumped?
And what if I’m not interested

in leftovers, the grudgingly
offered scraps, the free
meal that isn’t free? What if
I’ve kept an accounting

that doesn’t match your
claims, ledger books that show
where and when I didn’t get
what was due? But you

always change the rules,
the secret passwords,
the handshakes at the door
to the old boys’ club.

You circle your wagons
and act like you don’t
know what the fuck
I’m talking about.

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