Published in Issue 62.3: Summer 2023
Flash. Flash. Bang. Grenade. The Disco-
Balls still spin in Detroit. Ukraine is
bombed, honorable mentions for bombings,
Yemen, Somalia, Afghanistan, Syria, Libya
Color Coated along the coasts. Big
spending in the ports. The Prophet Joseph
dreamed of bigger things in his bright coat
knitted by God. What if God was the bee on
the flower, also the flower drinking its daily
sun. A DJ spinning the record of one city in
the next. I can’t imagine anything bigger
than the atomic bomb. Sodom and
Gomorrah POOF. The magician declares
POOF God says POOF the cities go POOF
Beirut’s port POOF my money emergency
POOF the poet POOF A VIRUS. Flash.
Bang. BANG. The porno was shot in the
man’s apartment with masks for protection,
NO condoms. The light show was mediocre
on the fourth of July. The flag knits were
fitted to the bone. For safety, the lights
stayed on, the cameras stayed rolling. “Why
can’t we look away” the young red-headed
girl begs her sunburnt WD-40 mother
somewhere in Wayne County, it’s 1977,
“We need to stand witness with GOD” was
all she said, and the cops beat her brother’s
face bloody. My queer body patted through
checkpoint, customs, the backpacks became
bullet-grade in 2011 what I’m saying is the
democracy is still hungry for more.
Yasmine Roukiaya (sic Rukia) is a Lebanese/Appalachian/American lyricist, fictionist, and performing poetess living in-between hyphens, genres, and political streams of consciousness. Her work can be found in The Margins, Koukash Review, Black Warrior Review, Mizna, Tinderbox Poetry Journal, BAHR, Belt Magazine, Gordon Square Review, and elsewhere. She loves her two sons, sparkling water, the sea, and the sound of chickadees on any given Michigan morning.
