3 by morgan parker

Image by Yurie Sekiya ©

Beyoncé on the Line for Gaga

 Girl you know you ain’t that busy.
 Without me                             you’re just two ears
 stuffed with glitter.
               Spoken gun               your name
 baby’s first words when she enters
               swag up            covered in
 gunmetal spandex, cigarettes for eyes.
 Say my name, louder
               come into                   these hips
 and live. Let
 platform heels tightrope curves,
               make Jiggaman jealous.
 He runs the streets
 I pour into them, weave first
 fierce nymph of Texas
               holy in black.
 You feel me? This booty
 is smooth running water.
 I shake                                        too thick for love,
 push records like dimes,
 rep the hustle                      slick as legs.
 I know you like that.
               I carry the hood up in this bling.
 Soft brown fingers
 got rocks for days. Lips glossed opening
               for a special purpose.
 You say Tell ‘em B 
 I open my legs, throw my shades on like,
 Divas gettin money.                                         Hard as the boys.
 Give me all
 your little monsters and I will burn them up.
 Give me your hand
 and I will let you back this up.
 Tonight I make a name for you.

Rebirth of Slick

 & sashayed
 & solar            I’m a moodless seedling
 on the day Jay-Z was born
 & Fred Hampton was killed

 Watching TV and thinking “White people are crazy”
 Watching YouTube and thinking “Kanye West
 is crazy”
 Looking in the mirror

 Everything crazy is the best
 It’s what I learned from Aunties
 & empty bottles after midnight
 The birth of a bullshitter
                in dark lipstick & big dreams

 It’s easy to be ravishing: don’t think
 I am feeling smooth and twirl my wrist as such
 Flock to me I ain’t scared
 My bed is a cross between dancehall & fruit field
 Everyone is on the list                                      plus infinity

 I was born this way: unsatisfied
 My color is a bridge with no other side
 In a second life my voice is a drum kit
 Reigning over green hills like weather
               I am king & anthem
               I know how to relax

White Beyoncé

 Sneezed on the beat
 and blessed her self

 Her love goes viral her love
 of teeth and starched collar

 Her husband is a baseball cap
 She shakes his hand goodnight

 She tips a bowing manicurist
 who thinks she’s President

 Her daughter is at the academy
 wrongly pronouncing Spanish

 She watches Turner Classic Movies
 and sees herself there

 Up in da country club she dines with friends
 The conversation is breezy

 Doesn’t look the waiter in the eyes
 ordering vegan chicken salad w/ amenities

 She sees into her past
 The conversation is breezy

 She’s been in the dictionary since
 she was born her words Victorian highways

 She’s un-revolutionarily flawless
 Feminist approved she vacations daily

 She woke up like with a million bucks
 slipped into lacy panties it’s always sunny

 Her husband is upstanding of course
 The tabs call him Mr.

 She performs the press coverage is breezy:
 What rosy cheeks what milky vacancy

 Her daughter learns about beauty
 Discovers nothing surprising

MORGAN PARKER is the author of Other People’s Comfort Keeps Me Up At Night (Switchback Books 2015), selected by Eileen Myles for the 2013 Gatewood Prize, and There Are More Beautiful Things Than Beyoncé (Coconut Books 2016). A Cave Canem fellow, graduate of NYU’s Creative Writing MFA program, and poetry editor for Coconut Magazine, Morgan lives in Brooklyn and at www.morgan-parker.com.

YURIE SEKIYA is an illustrator living in Japan.  You can see more of her work at hanamizz.org.