Marcela Sulak

MEN ON STRIKE

Men on parade. Menmigrant Hispanic and rednecks in long hair cleanshaven the kind mydaddy bought parts from nevertouching some of themcould rewire your grandma’s house sharing their wife’s tortillas. They’d have stopped onthe narrow shoulderof the highway to help you changea flat or driven to townto fill up the gascan they were lending you orgiven you a jump inthe near-desertedparking lot, and here they arenow—embarrassed ashell, like you had askedthem to hug their neighbor’s wifein church at the kissof peace, you know theysecretly like it. The menI like most answernot yet instead ofnone that I know of some wearCuban heels and tightjeans and spin when theydance you. The tall black Southernleader counter clockwise keeps time todaycalling whoooo’s the man? Callingwho’sgonnago? insharp beats—merenguethey are embarrassed to dancewith invisiblepartners called below minimum wage! Insufficient benefits! Everyone looking attracting attention the fact ofbodies as things withneeds where before therehad been only necklace linksimpossibly delicate their daughtersbrought them unknotting themselvesbeneath thick fingersengines shudderingto the quick strike of a sparkplug the free combustingthat which a casingcontains all the invisibleforces that keep the machinesof the world worldingand pinned to the self-cleaningsky. Chrysler buildingin full bloom, forgive them theyfeel bad, like they ruined a playground. This one here, wherejust past Broadway the Gracebuilding slides to a stop attheir feet.—from Rattle #39, Spring 2013
Tribute to Southern Poets

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Marcela Sulak (Texas): “I write poetry because I read too much of the wrong kind of literature growing up on a rice farm.”

Related* “In Our Line of Duty” by Eli Eliahu * “Withdrawal Symptoms” by Dave Bonta * “Afghanistan Is Your Fault” by Meghan Sterling