i was hanging all over
from the night before
when on the echoing trail
of an exacerbated exhale
i remembered
faintly
that she said something
about class.
which got me thinking
about whether or not
i truly
‘had it’,
class
that is,
i had ‘had it’
‘up to here’
before
and i ‘had it’
with marie
last weekend
but what
was class?
my shoe strings dangle
like jellyphone cords
whining in whisking winds
like the tin-tinkering
engine of my car which was
made in nineteen ninety and two
by lower class men
from lower class homes
in graveyard cities.
i was groomed and led
into the marriage of
myself and university
maybe i shouldn’t have
skipped all of those
classes
some people are
much smarter
than I am
maybe they even
have more
class.
collegiate crawl and
cul de sac withdrawal
see my folks they’re good people
they’re very middle class
maybe once, for a couple years,
they were snuggly in the upper of the middle
and the mantle it felt brittle
as the banks wriggled us out
of Briarwood for being
too simple
and owning,
always,
too little,
and piling past any type of middle
the amounts we were
owing,
(tiny violins,
tiny fiddles.)
my napkin goes in my lap
and this right here
this is my water glass.
no one likes to be knocked around
but bruises make landmarks
and weather stronger the skin
of those who
truly know
what hunger is.
watch us paste our hide
along the steps of
every gotham
and like insects
continue to escape
the heel of the boot.
what is it about our chests
that makes them want to erupt
with an explosion
of our hearts and all things
we truly wish to breathe?
i’ve seen the baton
and it’s blurred my eyes
bloodied my face
and battered my hope,
banished sunlight to shade,
but when you ask if i have class-
what can i say?
honey, i’ve got it in spades.
