Beneath Me
____________________________________

They were of a different hue.
They were all the same color.
The roaches at 51 Felton Street
Went to work when we snored.
They raced for black lines
At the flick of a switch.
They were an athletic sort.
Some of their youngest laughed
At my Chuck Taylor’s,
And I just knew
I’d never make it to the Olympics.
Sleep and they’d creep
Into my ears come night.
They conspired with certain spiders
Regarding ladder and crane designs.
Anything to top the refrigerator,
For the loaf of white bread.
They did not fly
Because they chose not to.
They would not sing
Above a roach whisper.
The roaches on Felton ruled
The cabinets, the land
Of pots and plates and pans.
They were well-dressed and polite.
We sneezed. They said
Bless you. They coughed.
We slapped their shiny backs.
But I don’t have to miss them
Coursing through the walls
I come from. All that crawls
Beneath me dies
When I try my walk away.
Every time I tell a lie, I smile
And imagine their coupling, oh
God, their loveless orgies.
Insects. Incest. 674 families
Below my family’s beds.
The roaches at 51 Felton Street,
They hate my human face.
They know my last name.

 

From Please by Jericho Brown, 2008

New Issues Poetry & Prose, Western Michigan University, Dept. of English,
1903 W. Michigan Ave., Kalamazoo, MI 49008-5331
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