draft for T-Rob

Sweet Innocence

What’s even worse
are those folks who ignore and
abuse us while pretending to
dote on and adore us
make us their pasty white gravy
never taking a biscuit.
Oh, they’ll show us their lipsticks
remind us how their hands
separate the person from the body
slip the trinkets out our pockets.
There’s much we could do
if we wanted to forget.
We could ride buses and collect transfers.
We could make charts, predict our next
bland predicaments, our laments.
We could smell like beer and
never leave the upstairs.