the derosiers of sevier

the agents staged our absence in your house.
we knew we couldn’t fight the family picture.
our mobility belongs to you, patrolliers.
we have to pay for what our presence breaks—
the white heat exchange will never be the same

and unsustainable, like somebody picking peas
one minute, as a shadow tracing through the eno
woods that same minute, right underneath where
you and your children violently patrol, paddyrolliers,
as mommy and me and them whispering in the street

when its pall all the time, nobody selling hot tamales,
no ice cream truck, nobody watering the asphalt,
nobody reminding you to move your car till you
wrote us, motherfucker to mama, to get the fuck
up out. let our failed roof be a funereal notion

over your head. let our windfall be your hurricane.
when you check the scared poetics of the list serve
the big fella in the black car is my ghost cruising,
subveering, see how my ride be sounding all umami,
mommy, slinging what you want till you can’t let go.