Until you arrived with your accoutrements,
white man, causing the girls to cover
their mouths, I was quarreling
with the porridge seller and rocking
this boy to sleep with my stamping
dance—it always works. Don’t be
fooled by my eyes. Sometimes the beginning
of derision looks like fear. Instead
think of these lips opening in
defiance and the music you
will see in my eyes—laughter,
heavy as stones—will pelt you,
Mr. Cameraman. What are
you stealing from my body, sir?
Will you tell me this, now, Sir?