DISTAIN t h th st ain th i s stai n this stain
our history
dis stain of delusion turned your tongue to vapour dis solve Dis god of illusion took our minds she bows her head you bow your head you lift your head she lifts her head slowly turns to the right uncertain tied to tremble because no one knew besides tied to spit in the mouths of descendants half-blood our beaten-down mother’s shy rage White mist over my young face his slick-backed hair slick-golfer slick-stick slick-for-women slick alcohol our breath held inside his bitter eyes —Lynn McClory
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