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In Hill Country we raise a welt, we bring it home;
not a good look despite all righteousness
plus all day long it stares us in the face, home
says you did good you lifted the flat
of your hand against injustice or at least
endangerment; saved our skin, laid out flat
we were only shaken & had done our small
part in the cause of making known our rights.
Small price to pay for making known our right
not to be flattened. Laid out flat but dusted
ourselves off & the way back was all downhill.
Natural history of a badge we bring back from Hill
Country. It stares us in the face we stare right
back, it boasts of righteousness we lose rights
it says what good are rights hand flattened
in a pocket? Home free, the hand, righteous,
rebarbative, badgering about righteousness,
grousing day & night grows into its boast.
~~~~
Copyright 2025 Fortunato Salazar

| Fortunato Salazar has poems, translation, and other writing at The Atlantic, Ploughshares, Conjunctions, Harvard Review, Copper Nickel, Conduit, Lana Turner, VOLT, The Brooklyn Rail, and widely elsewhere. He lives in southwest Hollywood and in Berlin. |
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