By Emmanuel Oppong-Yeboah
low hanging fruit on the tree
glimmers in the sun, can you see it?
so fruity, with the kick in your step
your hips loose
fruity, with the touch of soon to be
rotting. you, a disposable
too. burn faggot and leave
your chortling to the wild breeze
boys like you ain't shit but the foot
we'd put in your ass no homo
boys like you be nothing
but a bearing. anything we'll latch
onto you. boys like you'll be the mules
to our lassos, coat your faces in wet sand
just so we can stick our slick into you.
boys like you be everything we not: ripe,
good for the picking, tender, soft boys
who never learned to age hard and gangrene
boys like you don't know what a man is
so we be the boys to teach you.
boys like you'll be found split on a bathroom
floor—bruised, all your juice let loose
and puddled enough to see us reflected
in you, everything we not & fear
to let ourselves to be.
Emmanuel Oppong-Yeboah is a Ghanaian-American poet living out the diaspora in Boston, Massachusetts. He is both Black & alive. Emmanuel serves on the staff of Winter Tangerine and Maps for Teeth. He enjoys hot carbs, brightly colored chapbooks, and the long sigh at the end of a good book.