See Jane Run

In every hood in America she lives.
She is decorated; slum royalty
purple shirt, and shoes, and bracelet and hair bow and cigarette stained teeth
Everything on her is new; everything in her is sadly unknown
because she is never always off; never fully on
She will make dinner for hours for all but she had to sell plasma to do so
She would ask if she could move in with you and then find a reason to break your window
Every lie she ever told was the complete and total truth
She is a stepford wife with a gold tooth
She didn’t find any advantages to paying attention in school
but she preaches at her sons that they ought to
as she fixes a plate for a man who has more than once
tried to break her pretty face in with his fist or boot
West side Ghetto Godiva; The Ariel of the gutter Triton
If she hasn’t stole from you it’s because she doesn’t like you
She rolls her eyes at advice or sentiment
Haven’t seen her in months but when you do
She will find weed to roll up and invite you
Scream at her kids to do shit she will never do
Buy little knick knacks for your kids and smile
forgetting all the while that she owes a large sum of money to you
She is quiet and demure, nervous and unsure
a damsel in distress; tattoo on her purple bullet proof chest
She only moves in and out of the lion’s den; happiest when she is sad
No one is really her confidant or friend, strangely fragile masochist
Everything she does is just means to an end
As she paints her nails purple in her momma’s kitchen
And she will tell you what you need to hear the next time that she needs you again
But you never know why or when….
In every hood in America, she lives.




2 thoughts on “See Jane Run

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