By
Soodabeh Saeidnia
Rub Salt in Your Wound
Home is where you hang your hat
and spread yourself on the loveseat
stabbing a cheesecake with ultimate rage
watching how a huge map bleeds
on the feet of Rockefeller Center
Watching how white desires-
hidden for years in capped bottle of fears
– come out of the genie lamps beyond the polls
and mischievously smile at each other
laughing at all your logic and beliefs
Loveseat can’t bear the weight of your thoughts
You need to pound the pavement for days
to digest the reality that your sweet home
was owned lock, stock, and barrel
by a broken billionaire who promised
miners to fuck up the climate forever
workers to cultivate money on trees
racists to feel damn good as finally
everything’s coming up roses
the roses whose buds will scar humanity
You know this Little Boy will pass
like Fat Man passed but you have to fallow
the polluted fields again cos winter wheat
should be planted in the fall, so come
back home where you hang your hat
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