The New Order
whispers into my ears
of 22 year old hauntings
in Jewish boarding houses,
communal showers
and a seemingly gay 1963 assassination.
Behind the whispers
are Dominican conversations,
New York realness,
Subway tuna on flat bread
and yogurt scooped in Harlem train station,
only a few blocks from the famous Cotton Club.
Hypnotic androids devour the starving
amidst a pride of dykes
who clearly believe that
orange really is the new black.
All American Boy
croons as I make my mistake,
as I make my escape,
but I will return
so save me my seat.
Written by Jason Wright
November 2, 2017