Politics or Dancefloor

With fists and a beat, we scream it:
This is it
This is the distance that many million motherfuckers cross
every time they leave for college/life/peace corps/home;
punching the air

“in holes” and “out holes”
comprised of irons and ores
such as salt and sweet
sweet and pubic hair
cum on cum on bellies
and a freeze dried film on bed sheets
(that’s what freaks them out anyway)

first dicks are like
first cigarettes
you inhale them or you choke
either way that first puff is a moment
that moment you begin to sojourn towards Halsted and Irving Park
with that inkling in your stomach as a sign
the other boys will own the 2.5 statistic while you’re learning how
to dance
dance with them
you dance with a fist of a different pallor
connecting
along jawlines and gut
pony-tailed bitches pom-poming, fingers closed, into the air-
cheering-
“Gimme an eff!”
“Gimme an ay!”
“Gimme a double gee!”
“Gimme an oh!”
The steal the “tee” from your wounded pride and the shiver in your eye

so we dance with fists
and that’s alright but why not move on-
with fists?
rise up with fists?
hit back with fists?
change laws with fists?

bruises would fade into
yesterday’s news
yet we shuffle feet/bob our heads/side-step
still frozen from the headline
that forced us to learn to be scared/scarred in the first place

“Wyoming Teen Found Tied to a-“ yaddayaddayaddafaggot

So we stand for it
Wait for it
Brace for it

When we should be
unh-tss
unh-tss
unh-tss
Fists pumping, punching-
Shit kicking from guilt
Showing the rest how we
unh-tss
unh-tss
unh-tss
Love
when we should be
unh-tss
unh-tss
unh-tss
dancing.