Mary Block     Miami                (Rita Maria Martinez)
After Rebmann and the Safari Collection Brochure


Like a bird in a restaurant
I’ve been transformed
by the walls around me
into a filthy thing,
a hovering problem
who moves too fast
and doesn’t know how to leave.

Like the 10-foot alligator caught
in a Clearwater kitchen,
hissing and thrashing around
in a puddle of red wine and glass,
I’ve been monstrously wrong.
My fury’s gone viral.
My body’s been made absurd
for its size and its suffering, 
made available to subscribers.

Like the herd of giraffes
with their heads
through a hotel window
I want my beauty back.
I want to understand my rights 
on either side of a given partition.
If a window implies permission,
turns me into a freaky background
for a stranger’s vacation photos
I want to know. ​