Will You Pass Your Own Pencil Test Poem by Sarah Mkhonza

They used to test for kinkiness,
In the skin nines of days gone bye.
Now you do your own pencil test,
And get yourself in and out, in this
Maze that has us hungover from the
lifederal of the money seeking that
Rubs it's behind against us like
prostitutes with their sensuousness.

You touch a button to declare the
kinkiness of your brain and the
pencil fails to go through.
It declares you are kinky, yes,
more kinky than your hair.

By the wisdom standards of heaven,
you are duped to forever sit on a
slot machine hoping for a jackpot.
Your brain is now frying in this.

You hear the sound of money,
this flutter of angels wings.
It says you are next and you
dance in this casino of madness.

You have seen a tomorrow, which
glimmers. This mirage, this thing
knocks on your rib cage, seeking
to open your heart, says
go and take the test. Yours is a
kinkiness that cannot be combed out.









having borrowed