Feminism Because it Sounds Nice
Used my brother’s bodies
Like brown tree stumps
On which to stand.
Like their color was your platform.
And when you
And all the other suffragettes
With hand painted portraits
And lifetime biopics
And artificial critical acclaim
On bull shit ideologies
Like Republican Motherhood
You summoned Isabella Baumfree
‘Cuz her new name sounded nice.
(like a gold token)
She told you
That you used her brothers
For your own advances
Because it sounded nice
And then used them again as a means for reason
When they won
And you lost
She asked you, in New York vernacular,
“Aren’t I a Woman?”
And you recorded her “aren’t”
Because southern Negro twang sounded nice.
And amidst dodging man-eating dogs and opening railroad stations
To save my Black ass’s tomorrow
She didn’t have the time to
Learn to write the words she spoke.
And then you birthed daughters who birthed daughters who booked Megabuses
From all parts of Ohio and Oklahoma
And Kansas and those other states that
Don’t nobody know shit about,
—Like the continent they call a country
‘Cuz don’t nobody know shit about—
Into the capital
To spew sentiment like
Intersectionality and universality
Because those sound nice too.
My favorite signs were
With perfectly symmetrical penmanship that stated:
The ones that explained that pussy power
Trumps Trump’s small hands
Because it sounds nice.
It sounds so nice to oppress women
By oppressing men
For being small
Because men are supposed to be the big ones
And women are small.
52 percent of you
Voted for Trump anyway!
Despite his small hands