POETRY
Trump’s America: Three Poems
Destine Carrington

Photo by roya ann miller on Unsplash

On the Ground

A man,
prostrate, 
fingers on his hands splayed
spat gum engrained
in the lines of his fingerprints.
I thanked my lucky stars to be born after that
but right in the middle
of this and us.
Faded flames still burn our future freedom bus.
They’ve always told me that black was mean,
but just yesterday white hoods
hosed my Sunday best clean and
we heard a speech by Dr. King outlining a dream
where black people were free
without scrubbing
Rubber-gloving and
Bleach cream. 
Maybe the gravel can take the color off.


American Dream

American releases a scream from inside
the hollow of her throat
but a weary white hand promised a Dream
won’t let go
Will choke what little clean air is left
lead to believe they own everything
They think it isn’t theft.


Soot. Ash.

I always feel dirty now.
Like soot
Ash
Unworthy now.
I plead please see
I didn’t ask for this
Black skin, Black hair
Big Black lips
I’m sorry I’m here
If that’s what you need to hear
I’m sorry.
I’ll kill myself to save you the trouble
Don’t worry, I’ll clean the blood.
Don’t worry, I’ll write the article that calls me a thug.


Destine Carrington is a queer, black woman with a BFA in Creative Writing from the University of North Carolina Wilmington because she enjoys challenges. Other things she enjoys include but are not limited to: burgers, brownies, and Batman.