you think
i don’t know
what Lucretia doin
to us
with her grinnin eyes
lyin through her gap tooth sighs
got you wanderin round
with a flashlight at daybreak
neighbors whisperin
she got roots on you
sayin she ridin your soul outta control
with those wide hips

you think
i don’t know
this marriage fell victim to homicide
under our bed
there are three packed suitcases
an envelope with nine hundred dollars
a one way train ticket to the crossroads
and a brown paper bag concealin a fifth of gin
you ain’t nothin but a man on the verge of sin

you think
i don’t know
where this is headed
ain’t nothin left to take back
ain’t nothin left to pack
i ain’t got no more tricks up my sleeve
or beneath my skirt
so i reckon you’ll be wantin your last supper
shrimp creole with a tablespoon of menstrual flow
pastor fae say one swallow of red rain will put a lover’s charm to shame
by mornin you’ll see Lucretia in my eyes and realize
i’m the only woman

worth
runnin
to

Mawiyah Bomani

Used with permission of the poet.