of caramel binding—perhaps not break them
but rather use them, wrap them around the pale necks of men
who looked down at us and then tried to pick us up
with the almighty dollar; you and i were going to laugh
in their faces, hold them down and teach their children
how to keep their guilt in their wallets.
you and i were going to take this town in our hands
and feel the buildings crumble in our palms—
we were going to feast on autumn leaves and concrete
and wash it all down with the blood of those who used our grandfather
to build their empires; we were going to don
our swords and shields (bearing the image of the Vijen)
and down their walls brick by pressing brick;
it was our turn to be the Conquistadors.
i prepared to hoist a cup overflowing with brew with you;
we would drink to our conquest of things that were
unobtainable to us before—unobtainable to our mothers
and fathers because they felt the need to bow down
to the desires of those above us and use babies
to weigh themselves down; you and i would get drunk
on power and dreams, on desires and glory—
our own, not our mothers and fathers.
life threw you a bone and you choked.