"I am somebody,"
	the preacher says
	his words exploding from full lips
	to inflame the ears of beautiful black women
	and fire the troubled minds nodding solemnly 'neath wide straw hats
	and crowns of woolen hair.
	So intently
	these somebodies listen
	and watch the heavenly body
	manifest as mohogany man
	strapped to a cross of knotted wood
	kingdom of troubles braced upon his bloody brow
	that they miss this body
	small nobody
	slipping past the transfixed rows
	out past the doors
	and into the street
	where sunlight splashes on anybody
	and everybody.
	This body
	skipping across cracked sidewalks
	dancing down pockmarked roads
	not believing anyone
	who tells her she's somebody
	when she knows that nobodies
	go unnoticed
	and free.