Jon Tribble: Appearances

I wear no uniform but the skin

I came into and changed with

.

the world’s knocks and years,

scrapes and scars, no tattoos yet

.

coloring this pinkish canvas,

nothing but blue veins beneath

.

to trace the lines of weary life,

but I know this code I am is read

.

each day wrong, right, imperfect

estimations of who I am not or am

.

or could be. I am cracker, honky,

ofay, Arkie, redneck, bubba,

.

peckerwood, gringo, gwailo,

Mister Charlie, squarehead, hillbilly,

.

roundeye, baldhead, whitey—

all inert, tasteless in my mouth,

.

but in yours or yours or yours

explosive like ghost chili extract

.

spit into my eyes, burning my face

and hands until I can turn on you

.

with your words, the same venom

in all eyes until the only thing we see

.

is the silhouette of our own hate,

a cameo to hang around the neck

.

of the world until we all dangle

there in the harsh wind together.

—

copyright 2015 Jon Tribble