Dogerrel in Dark Times

Living in a mountain paradise,

An hour out from the possible presence of ICE,

I take daily tinctures of vice to stay awake—fuck it: woke.

This morning’s dose: Hughes’ The Ways of White Folks—

Acrid, choked drops under the tongue

To inoculate myself from the plague

I inhaled in a crowd of gentle, well-meaning robots

(Not fair, perhaps, are you?) leaning in, cheering on white poets

Who swore to us in wide gesture and easy rhyme

That joy under the moon is resistance in dark times

Which I suspect is only true

If you are black, brown, LGBTQ or chronic-blue.