She wears her poverty
She wears her poverty like a cloak
Licence to speak
Freedom to be
A freak
To get 3rd helpings and chew them loudly
Daring anyone present, to object
She will hit you with her shack
In the informal settlement
A reminder of all the ways the world has failed her
She will spit the filth,
Accumulated by many bodies in small spaces
In your face
As she chews
Her 4th helping
Of triangular sandwiches
Filled with egg and lettuce and strips of yellow pepper
Crunching the white tissue wrapper
She wears her poverty like a cape
Superwoman
Propelled by fiery anger
Her words, swords
Attacking anyone who will listen
White saucer in hand
Holding thin milky tea
A Light brown bag swimming in the sweetened sea
That she swirls as she takes aim
Owning her right to maim with indignation
That her shack in the informal settlement by the Atlantic
Allows
She wields her blackness like a weapon
The only one she has
She uses
Her melanin, to hold space
Her sun endowed tone, will take you down
Her face pulled in an angry frown
© JSA