twenty one

Dillon Jones

my friends are real cool black men who like chocolate cigars
& dollar store vodka i tell them my white friend dave slapped
me they wont meet my eyes as i explain instead of gutting him

with one of amandas steak knives or peeling back his scalp with
a bottle opener as they say they wouldve done i sprinted six blocks
sunk to the floor of my apartment a teary heap pissed myself asleep

we had split a water bottle of jack daniels plus i tried to tell him of
fucking course you want to be white dont say such stupid shit or
something i think hurt his feelings so i left if id stayed i wouldve

killed him i think no no i wouldve apologized & started crying you
know what im saying no they dont know what im saying dont get
how i could let a white man touch me like that but hes just a boy

& im just a boy performing the lines were given to our best ability
it seems to me the problem was i wasnt really listening to him you
know what im saying no they dont know what im saying dont see 

whats so complicated about a white man backhanding a black man
i think the issue was my framing of the problem i put to them me
real cool black men friends i shouldve said im currently experiencing
a considerable amount of pain please look me in the eyes thanks

 

Dillon Thomas Jones is a writer living in Pittsburgh, PA. His work has appeared in The Indianapolis Review, Coal Hill Review, and Yemassee. His first book, a study of frustration, is forthcoming from word west press in October 2020.