Blue Faces

A new poem by Marcus Wicker

October 4, 2017  By Marcus Wicker
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Blue Faces

 

after Kendrick Lamar
Never look a gift horse in its nickel-plated grill, lest you’ve come itching for a lesson in penny stocks. Exhibits A – M: Jordan’s heirless, raffled mansion. Jump shot dreams & white rocks (those, too). Hip hop’s hot topics: the Phantom & Maybach. Given the blueblood exclusivity of the oil industry, give us Sprewells. Chrome helicopter wings. Rims that continue to spin stopped short of a destination. Wide enough to bank the sun against crumbling brick party store walls. Given the blueblood fields, the amber waves of grain, give us all gold everything: gold watch, gold chains, three sparkling pinky rings dropped in Ace of Spades champagne like a garnish. Given the cure for wealth is wealth, give us the generic shit. Why else you think we drink French liquor & blow through money? No Super PAC for tax break dairy & coal money. Cashier holding my twenty up to the light to see if it’s real money. Like I’d be shopping at Wal-Mart if I could counterfeit money.




Marcus Wicker
Marcus Wicker
Marcus Wicker is the recipient of a Ruth Lilly Fellowship from the Poetry Foundation, a Pushcart Prize, The Missouri Review's Miller Audio Prize, as well as fellowships from Cave Canem and the Fine Arts Work Center. His first collection Maybe the Saddest Thing, a National Poetry Series winner, was a finalist for an NAACP Image Award. Wicker's poems have appeared in The Nation, Poetry, American Poetry Review, Oxford American, and Boston Review. His second book, Silencer, is just out from Houghton Mifflin Harcourt. Marcus teaches in the MFA program at the University of Memphis, and he is the poetry editor of Southern Indiana Review.









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