Poem: Duplex

I still believe in God. What else keeps me 

From slaughter? Who else holds the butcher’s hand?



Sweet slaughter. Though I’d pray, Give me butcher’s hands,

Matthew baked me cakes as if I could be saved.



He baked spice cake, humming as if we were safe,

As if this weren’t the land of milk and money.



We can’t survive this nation of white money,

Says the black man as his excuse for malice.



What black man needs an excuse for malice?

Why mask the salt? No sugar is that sweet.



My pressure’s high. No sugar could make me sweet

If he came back today, if he forgave me.



Since he won’t come back, won’t forgive me,

I believe in God. Who else would keep me?