Jamila throttles into the lobby of the library; there is blood in her eyes, which forces her to squint deep.
She wants the name of the motherfucker that told her mother the only place she can work is Dollar Tree.
She wants his name, his motherfucking badge number, and the FICO score of his old lady.
I tell her I am the motherfucker she is looking for, which comes out all wrong (I don't clinch the emphasis).
But, that I never would have told her mother the only place she can work is Dollar Tree. I tell her, I told her.
I told her that the only place that might accept papers applications in this neighborhood is Dollar Tree or Family Farms.
Jamila in a NY JETS jersey and sparkly sandals; Jamila, tough customer on a vendetta query, looking through motherfuckers.
Jamila, all employers force applicants to pilot their websites, so they can assess their protocol-pulse and proclivities.
Jamila, I would like nothing more than to be the motherfucker that helped your mother get a job, but I can't.
Bring her to my computer class on Wednesdays so she can learn some new skills and come hang out in the air conditioning with us.
Jamila, libraries love your mother, libraries love mothers in general, libraries are full of motherfucking mother-lovers, Jamila.
A Spanglish blog dedicated to the works, ruminations, and mongrel pyrotechnics of Yago S. Cura, an Argentine-American poet, translator, publisher & futbol cretin. Yago publishes Hinchas de Poesia, an online literary journal, & is the sole proprietor of Hinchas Press.