The Long Way

Your grandfather was a murderer.
I’m glad he’s dead.

He invented the toothbrush,
But I don’t care to read his name

On the building I walk through

To avoid the rain. He raped women
Who weren’t yet women.

I imagine the wealth he left
When you turn red. I imagine you as a baby

Bouncing on a rapist’s knee. I like my teeth
Clean. I like to stay warm

And healthy. I get it. Then I get it
Again: my oral hygiene and your memory

Avoiding one another

Like a girl who walks the long way
To miss the neighborhood bully

Who’d really rather just beat up on somebody
New. I can’t help you. I can’t hug you.

I can’t grip your right hand, though
It never held a gun, though it never

Covered a lovely mouth, and you can’t pay me
To cross the ground floor without wishing

I could spit or mar some slick surface

And not think of who will have to do the cleaning.
We’d all still be poor. I’d end up drenched

Going around. You’d end remembering
What won’t lead to a smile that gleams

In dark places.