told them to let us eat,
right? How did the papers frame it—
queen of depravity? Opaque
as a mannequin in her skirts

(though the libelles showed the world:
this succubus won’t let us eat),
she takes her last walk. Justice waits
for the future her head obscures.

She steps on the foot of the man
who’ll cleave apart the vocal cords
which bade, I hear, to let us eat.
She apologizes. That’s not

a sight I can afford. I have
nothing. Our streets scream themselves hoarse.
We’re undeniable at last,
and we say they will let us eat.