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Harryette Mullen – Ⅱ

Black Nikes 




We need quarters like King Tut needed a boat. A slave could

row him to heaven from his crypt in Egypt full of loot. We’ve

lived quietly among the stars, knowing money isn’t what mat-

ters. We only bring enough to tip the shuttle driver when we

hitch a ride above a trailblazer of light. This comet could scour

the planet. Make it sparkle like a fresh toilet swirling with blue.

Or only come close enough to brush a few lost souls. Time is

rotting as our bodies wait for now I lay me down to earth.

Noiseless patient spiders paid with dirt when we what we want is

stardust. If nature abhors an expensive appliance, why does the

planet suck ozone? This is a big-ticket item, a thickety ride.

Please page our home and visit our sigh on the wide world’s

ebb. Just point and cluck at our new persuasion shoes. We’re

opening the gate that opens our container for recycling. Time

to throw down and take off on our launch. This flight will nail

our proof of pudding. The thrill of victory is, we’re exiting

earth. We’re leaving all this dirt.