say here & it sound
like a heel shoved
down a throat.
a horse hitched. guttural.
tough meat yanked,
bones crushed by teeth
minted in gold. sound
like a sixth generation
curse when it fly
out your mouth little god.
a bolt cracking ‘cross
field laid flat beneath indigo
clouds. you say come back
heel & you mean
your daddy too. mean
we are so ancient.
how long we done
lived— us-folk,
for whom heaven
is live broadcast
everyone else gets
to simply watch.
our down-at-the-heel
place. filthy & barefoot.
double-wide on stilts,
a body to be burned
if need be, ‘cause
already. already no fear
of fire in you.
of sharp gill or a heavy
hand laid into your cheek.
you’ve caught
on early, turning—
through the cylinders
of nature—root,
rainfall to praise. making
rubber tire, rusted
scrap into playground.
sun-bleached boats,
fish nets are birds
in your hand,
there on the divine screen
of poverty. ingenuity,
beggar’s alchemy:
what we got into
what we ain’t meant
to have. we’s
who the earth
is for, you
squeak. & you sing
two kinds of people:
your daddy & you:
those who stay
& those who survive
the heel.