Privilege

Originally posted 7/25/2010.

Definition: it is
an oil
that gets on everything,
clumps in dark corners
where it’s obvious
if you put a light on it

but when spread around
becomes invisible,
almost intangible
until you try to grip something.

If you’re born coated in it
you forget it’s there.

The ones who came before you
teach you
to work with it,
to make it your friend,
make it stick wherever
you want it to stick.

You won’t even remember it’s there
once you get the knack.

It’s no wonder
that you’re insulted when people
call you “slick”
as they try
to make you see how
it shines so evenly on you.

The wells that pump it
are deep.  Pulling up the pipes
is not like pulling teeth,
more like pulling roots,
long roots,
nearly interminable roots,

roots that
cross the lawns:
pull the roots
and the lawns
come up with them;

roots
under the roads:
pull them
and the roads
crack and split above them.

The wells that pump it
are deep
and the depth
of their reservoirs
is like unto
the Hell you’ve heard
so much about:

there is fire,
there is ice, there is
the Adversary who rules it.

He says he loves you,
calls you his beloved
slick bastard.  
It doesn’t feel terrible
no matter how much 
you yearn to hate it,
which is why 
no one really knows 
what a dry world
will be like,
except  that
we might find it easier
to hold onto each other.