She wears her poverty

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


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



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