This Your Mango

“Me too,” I said.
And he looked me in the eye
Shuffled papers, an aggravated sigh.
“I’m so sorry,” he replied,
And it seemed like he actually meant it.
“I’m not trying to ruin her life,
It’s a first offense so maybe just a record that she tried–”
“No, no. You put it in writing. I can’t just sweep it under the rug.”
And I was impressed by his diligence.

“You too?”
Black Teacher and I share the silent phrase.
We find a moment alone.

She harassed you?
Me too.
She hit you up at work?
That too.
You told her to stop, right?
Yeah, me too.
She sent texts every night without a single reply?
Scary too.
To a number you never gave her?
That too.
You blocked her?
Me too.
You tell the principal?
Me too.
And he said he’d do everything possible to the fullest extent–
Not you?
Is that why you’re quitting?
No, no, you just had better opportunities…
Somewhere Else.

Her eyes don’t match her mouth.
They catch mine burrowing
Through the darkness of her skin.

“It’s because you’re ‘straight’” she says,
Perhaps she even believes this true.
“As far as he knows, I am,” I rue.

Joyless, we laugh.
We do not voice the reasons why
Her Too weighs more than mine.

The reasons:
I count them like supermarket mangoes.
She puts them on like a tattered old coat
Long ineffective but a coat is a coat.

I, in my Fragile White Rage,
Righteously impotent,
Get all my nice coats for free.
If I have one thousand mangoes.
You should have at least three.