after “Girl” by Jamaica Kincaid
Witness the three guys march right in and take what they want,
hold my aunt inside her bedroom and close the door. I want you
to muffle her screams, terrify her children, turn away from youth,
survey and make final this lack of justice in discovering
hidden horror. Someone please find the way I drive ambiguous.
The world’s fastest man can go and never stop just like a train,
so lay one sister tied up on a track and store the other with her,
so they may die together. I don’t know why cousins kill cousins
in front of convenience stores. Only that a violin allowing a bow to go
against its strings seems to me as conventional as bulletproof glass
enclosing a movie theater—that when my cousin, age ten, takes
naked photographs with her cell phone, posing like a girl
in a rap video, her deadbeat dad should come out of the woodwork
and call whatever mess he’s made the twenty-first century.