Erica Dawson

When the City Calls Me Names

I holler back, and the whore on spikes— You know you want it—knows, and all The houses in the skyline’s dykes Sit there, despondent, and the scrawl Of dawn that doesn’t wake with fall- ing stars and coal-dark skies still burns. And the harbor speaks. And shadows crawl. And though the harbor’s big lip turns Downward with the dock’s hard U, returned From the clouds, Orion shows as one Big smile, but no one stops concerned When the whore calls out, You don’t want none? And nigger bitch blares like a gun Misfired right on target, wide But tight. Let me hold it, load it, run. Eels ride the slick. Night’s quick on the tide.   return to 1.2