this tropical complicity. Give me
a hundred names for snow,
Give me all the guilt
I never owned.
My sweat smells like Dachau,
even under Caribbean blooms, even
after I have thumbed it red. I wear
other cultures because mine is
beer and genocide. Our cheeses
smell as bad as their names, our
language sharper than our chins, our
perversions as precise as our
Yet I am erbkranken,
mongrel and the worst of
many worlds. I am
a cautionary neurotale under
fairy godmother hair.
My double-jeopardy skin won’t tan,
whites out all fresh starts, my
DNA guilty until proven guilty
(c) Copyright 2016 Laura Saint Martin
Laura Saint Martin writes poetry and fiction. She is currently working on a mystery series set in the San Gabriel mountains of Southern California. Laura enjoys word play and taking liberties with her native English language. She lives in Rancho Cucamonga, CA.