NaPoWriMo Day 27

 Countrymen

Sometimes, unbelonging is violence-
in modern dress Shakespeare, a Welsh man
smashes leek into an Englishman's mouth.
There's soil in his teeth, and his mouth stops-
his words stop, he will never speak well.
He will never speak well, or learn about old empires-
they only know they're winning when you cry-
when you cry salt tears upon that volume,
a book on colonialism with gilt edges.
One part was guilty, the other me was good in battle,
a hundred wars, white flag ship, slouch of names
that slough and bleed, like old names often do.
I plan to prick my thumb to get the right blood-
sometimes, belonging is violence

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