Band-Aids for Uncleaned Bullet Wounds: What You Traded Your Memories For
by Sabrina Dawkins
Your daughters,
like Skai Jackson,
being used to promote
Caucasian skin-colored bandages
that litter the covers
of mass market paperbacks,
surrounding the drawings of
false Christs
with pale skin
and long hair as a disgrace (1 Corinthians 11:14).
You would know this Christ
for the New Age is fake
from dissecting the Bible.
And, yes, there is time.
Hours spent consuming junk:
reality TV, sports, evil “artists.”
Black daughters
affecting a Kardashian accent
with bald edges
and permed spikes
from sewn-in-tight
corpse tresses.
You sold freedom and memories for
fast-food bread,
broadcast shame circuses.
You don’t remember
when you had houses
in the promised land.
You planted gardens.
Then you wanted
to be like other nations
who didn’t have God.
So he gave you your wish.
I saw two brown dog pets
at the house
they were supposed to inherit,
stomachs dragging the ground,
being let out
of “How dare we have Black History Month!”
Roman Adrianne Curry’s car
to play in the backyard.
Steve Cokely said Larry Bird
played Michael Jordan
for his own Big Mac.
A bread and circuses star,
he followed King Larry’s rules,
“No dunking,”
and played for nothing
as the Bible collects dust
and you are in the backyard.