Hannah Sokoya

December 14, 1972-london
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Broken Boomerang

Throwing my black girl magic your way.
Bending and snapping, (in blonde legalese)
Picking up the instrument of seduction,
aim- unfettered by distraction

Thump on the barren sand
my efforts land.
The love that stays where it's put.
Broken boomerang.

You are Aryan, terse, thin lipped, young- old ascetic.
Unfashionable on principle:
tweed and horn rim,
clean and cut.

How does this plaid persona unleash this wild energy ?

Sweating, pulsating like a pornographic cock as I devour your predictable inner smile.
Your witty asides tagged onto group banter that no one else hears.
The others don't discern our Otherness.

I see you.
My Walter White
Breaking all the rules
Un Hiding in plain sight

I smell you.
Dogged integrity
The delectable left over funk
our sex will never be.

But you never see me.

Lost in your self satisfied grin at thin air.
You play with your thoughts, pleasuring yourself at the twisting and turning of platonic ideals.
The corners of your pink mouth upturned like erect nipples.

Your oblivion teasing, toying with my feeble fight against my stereotypical African gaze at some Slovak Messiah.

For all my attempts at political correctness, this black ghetto girl delights in your white boy trauma.

Channelling Shostakovich.
Discretely dismembering Authority.
Note by note.
No need for starred caps, rugged goatees and camouflage.
Layering dissonant nods to our oppressors with the folk lore of yore.

You perfectly cadence for One and One only. The Grass Roots,
that made this green and pleasant land.

The rank and File:

More intangible than my unrequited ovations

As my broken boomerang lands
Raining sand,

in the frigid dustbowl this place has become.
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