Bury the Poem in Your Pocket

My professor told me
to write the contents
of my own pockets
the lint
the coins
the stuff
not there
and I would find
what matters to me
the injustice
that I can’t explain
of why a half-eaten
bag of jellybeans
left only the blacks
and I want to say
I just don’t like
the bitter taste
but fear
the dark perception
of being called
racist
won’t let
me throw
them away.