Poetry: ‘On Appropriation and Lineage’



Let me let you in.
At least give me the keys, please.
Or a cheap copy,
That doesn’t work properly.

I won’t expose your brickwork.
I’ll believe in your cement;
Your unknowable foundations,
Older than intended.

I’ll squawk back your language
And wear your old clothes.
And sit in the corner:
The black boy in your portrait.

I’ll believe in your hurdles
(I’m already jumping)
And run slower then nature
Would have me intended.

I’ll strive for your goals.
I’ll wear all your clothes,
And, when the the time is right,
I’ll marry your daughter.

Let me tea-stain your lineage,
And flatter your wife,
And carry your casket
Away from her life.


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