Prince Bush

I Bury Her Alive

I like dolls that don purple-pool-dipped lips,
Dark berry black skin, grape jelly; juicy
Juice shoes. I choose Pretty Princess, snatch and
Plait her dark blonde-brown hair. I have Yasmin
In tube-tops, saffron and salmon, saddling
Up a mismatch Barbie horse, hushed, hunched for
A fake picture. She sunbathes in salfate
Furs because she can. She holds rose petal
Purses, short-shorts, tells men no, gets away
With it. She can’t taste bit-tongue blood, feel pain,
Hear anything. She puts on Ken’s clothes and
Kills it, each night. I bury her alive
Alongside my secret thoughts, of I think
There are women—I would love—to turn into.

When my Medicine Goes Up by Twenty

I don’t want Harriet on the dollar
bills   she should as she does conduct  the heat—
electricity   sounds of surplus   loose
humans stealing the state from the statesmen—
crowing coups’ claim for how   keep her black as
the intersection    the plantation   black
as drugged juniors   seventy slaves   the maimed
brains from the Fugitive Slave Act   the aimed whips
on behalf of Benjamin   George   Joseph—
Paul   and James   town   Virginia   what will quell
the conquest of discharge   will free the slaves
from battling being   eaten   these inmates
will only have Harriet   to blame when
they are released   with her as all   they own—
at their beck and call   while private prison
possessors   slaving away   picking plants
here and there for people to work for free
will hold   boast   trade with other white palms   psalms
again absent   freedom again   absent—
with Harriet    and the struggle for life
will be assigned to Harriet   and the
instants of strife will be Harriet   and
the drugged juniors will be Harriet   and
she will become shape    exchange   change   chase—
again absent   freedom again   absent

Prince A. Bush
 is a bookish, black, non-binary (feminine-of-center—they/them/he/him), leftist, feminist, and gay poet. He attends Fisk University in Nashville, TN, as a graduating senior (!!!!!).

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