PIFFLE.

The square black man
brought in cinnamon buns
because it was the Friday
before a holiday

The square black man
holds my chin and tells me to
open wide
keep your arms at your side

The square black man
sits in the corner with a
PBR
his shoes are off
I see his toes rubbing one another

The square black man
takes me out to dinner
he orders for me
we eat in silence

The square black man
is so very square
and so very big
much more so
than the rectangular black man

The square black man
makes me phone his mother
they don’t talk anymore
I assure her that the check is in the mail

The square black man
raises tigers
fed on the bones
of lost children
I keep their souls in a jar

The square black man
rides the tigers to work
he has trouble parking
They pace next to a Buick

The square black man
eats Hot Pockets too fast
he uses his tongue
to press the smooth blisters

The square black man
dresses me like a whore
and demeans me with words
and his violent cock

The square black man
is on my screensaver at work
“Is that your husband?” they ask.
“Yes. Everyday.” I answer.

The square black man
cries in the shower
I know this
because I am made to watch