Dear Senator

Poetry 72

Wanna watch two kids shred themselves on the court on 7th street after the vote tonight?

Wanna hit up the bathroom stall my preggo girl Chanelle was shoved into at her school before you head back home to the fam?

Could I interest you in a picture of a dirty and bleeding Omar?

No?

Wanna check out a homeless vet named Daniel passed out on the street, veins bulging white while he lies face first in the gutter?

Wanna give my cold mix-tape a listen? Wanna hear me freestyle right now? Wanna see me break down and dance like a minstrel?

Or maybe you wanna see my high school degree? My bachelors? Masters? My doctorate diploma is arriving in the mail real soon.

No? Well...they’re hung real nice by my pulsing heart, which I have to put up each night after a long day—it usually stays hung up real nice on the wall like that.

But every now and again I’ll wake up to find it has flopped onto the ground—hearts can be tricky things to hang up. Where do ya put yours?