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Poem

One day
you gonna walk in this house
and i’m gonna have a long African
gown
you’ll sit down and say ‘The Black…’
and i’m gonna take one arm out
then you-not noticing me at all- will say ‘What about this brother…’
and i’m going to be slipping it over my head
and you’ll rap on about ‘The revolution…’
while i rest your hand against my stomach
you’ll go on-as you always do- saying
‘I just can’t dig…’
while i’m moving your hand up and down
and i’ll be taking your dashiki off
then you’ll say ‘What we really need…’
and taking your shorts off
the you’ll notice
your state of undress
and knowing you you’ll just say
‘Nikki/
isn’t this counterrevolutionary…’

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