Don't tread on me.
Your Timberland boots
are heavy and inflict pain
unbearable upon my neck.
Don't tread on me.
Your bare feet stink.
The smell of garlic mixed
with corn chips drift into
my nostrils, though I lay
upon my stomach.
Tears swell in my eyes,
As the stench chokes my throat.
But, most importantly,
don't tread on me
because you're adding
more pressure upon the
bodies I flatten into
corpses with my own
oppressive weight.
By A. Jarrell Hayes
Get on the Poet's Corner! Email poems to A. Jarrell Hayes at ajhayes@theblackurbantimes.com for consideration.
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