Poems

Yeet the Rich

By Marcus Wicker

reads the yellow caution
sign. Bold left arrow
signaling a blind curve

leading to a cobblestone
street lined w/ blushing
fountains, exotic leaves.

Broad brick facades
fit for provosts &
heiresses. Executives &

heretics. Left arrow
indicating political fidelity.
Br’er Rabbit Graffiti inked

in permanent Sharpie:
BEWARE. WASPS
AHEAD. Yeet! Eject

them if they can’t take a
loss. Yeet 50. Yeet
Weezy. Yeet authoritarian

instruments disguised as
promoted tweets. Yeet
every bushel, every spore

of cotton money
tumbling around Wallstreet.
Yeet it back

to the sun people,
diamond-rich in melanin.
Yeet antebellum allusions

couched as Regionalism.
Yeet Southern Gothic. &
Lacanian notions of objet

petit a—easily unveiled,
made available to the rich
via Benjamins. Yeet the rich

bloke who invented the old
Bad Boy adage, “Mo Money
Mo Problems” before Diddy

sampled it, lowballed Ma$e
& Biggie for their masters, flipped
the script & yeeted an empire.