finished. (better quality)goodnight tumbla.“They were of a different hue.They were all the sam
finished. (better quality)goodnight tumbla.“They were of a different hue.They were all the same color.The roaches at 51 Felton StreetWent to work when we snored.They raced for black linesAt the flick of a switch.They were an athletic sort.Some of their youngest laughedAt my Chuck Taylor’s,And I just knewI’d never make it to the Olympics.Sleep and they’d creepInto my ears come night.They conspired with certain spidersRegarding ladder and crane designs.Anything to top the refrigerator,For the loaf of white bread.They did not flyBecause they chose not to.They would not singAbove a roach whisper.The roaches on Felton ruledThe cabinets, the landOf pots and plates and pans.They were well-dressed and polite.We sneezed. They saidBless you. They coughed.We slapped their shiny backs.But I don’t have to miss themCoursing through the wallsI come from. All that crawlsBeneath me diesWhen I try my walk away.Every time I tell a lie, I smileAnd imagine their coupling, ohGod, their loveless orgies.Insects. Incest. 674 familiesBelow my family’s beds.The roaches at 51 Felton Street,They hate my human face.They know my last name.”-Jericho Brown -- source link
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