Critique of Carolyn Forche's "The Colonel"

Aside from the pistol on the couch and the the broken bottles on the outer walls that were intended to "scoop the kneecaps from a man's legs," the Colonel's family, with whom the speaker and her friend have dinner, is, to her expected readership, a typical, upper-middle class household with pets, a maid, and fluency in English. His daughter takes pride in her appearance, his son spends time with friends, and his wife is a good hostess.
The Colonel himself? Well he, like many do in their leisure, collects things--not rocks, coins, or army paraphernalia, but human ears. His collection of these ears is presented as being almost cannibalistic. After dinner, he carts them into the dining area in a grocery bag as if he was offering a store-bought cake for dessert. The speaker says that they looked like "dried peach halves." He places one in a water glass. In the midst of these estranged ears, the Colonel finishes off his glass of wine. The speaker is emphasizing his complete comfort with food in, what for most, would be a wholly unappetizing situation.
In his defense, though, the Colonel's one redeeming quality is that he stores his ear collection in a re-usable grocery sack in true environmentalist fashion, and for a third world country in the 70s, I'd say that that's rather remarkable, wouldn't you?  

Angry Black Woman Poem for the Month of November 2012

Shortenin' Bread,
Mama's li'l baby don't love no more.
Can't afford to get. White boy/girl wasted
Their parents' money on a college education that they don't need cause they was born knowing the [wh]ight people
So they gon' get that job whether they fail or
Passed out on the sidewalk in front of a bar being felt up by a middle-age man.
You can't even help cause the Don Imus who dispresepcts a straight haired "ho" sure as hell ain't giving you nappy headed ass' dignity
A second thought:
Across the street, the university police assume that a nigga on a campus ain't no better than a nigga no where else
With or without a bloody glove or a championship ring,
Never Never Land or a platinum record,
A prostitute or a dream,
A white wife or a narrative,
A gun or a ten-step plan,
An afro or consciousness.
They say, "be on the look out for a black male 5'4" to 6'4" darkishly light brown skin wearing black Converse."
--Kareem Al Dujabar?
And do they know that that describes every penis-laden human about whom I give two shits?
Brother daddy, brother brother, brother cousin, brother bruh, and brother lover
And that same white kid woho couldn't describe the suspect beyond the shared color of his skin and kicks
Think he's cool cause he listens to our music
Reciting Public Enemy verses
And I'm wondering if he knows what it means when Flav talks about the grafted.

Text Message Cinquain to My Landlady

The rent
Is due, but I
Won't have enough money
To pay it until next Friday.
Sorry.

Cinquain on Curious Customers

The ex-
Cess red nail
Polish makes it look like
All my cuticles are bleeding.
They aren't.

Pantoum on Lines by W.E.B. Di Bpos

"How does it feel to be a problem?"

Two souls, two thoughts, two unreconciled strivings

It is a peculiar sensation

Many a man, and city, and people have found in it an excuse for sulking

Two souls, two thoughts, two unreconciled strivings

The sobering realization of the meaning of Progress

Many a man, and city, and people have found in it excuse for sulking.

Progress I understand is necessarily ugly

The sobering realization of the meaning of Progress

Few know of these problems

Progress I understand is necessarily ugly

We are on ground made familiar by study, much discussion, and little philanthropic effort

Few know of these problems

It is a peculiar sensation.

We are on ground made familiar by study, much discussion, and no little philanthropic effort

How does it feel to be a problem?

Cinquain to the Hypocritical Environmentalist

As the
Smoke coated her
Lips, she said, "Eating meat
Is bad for the environment."
Thank you?

Cinquain to Dirty, Honking Men

To YOU,
Strange me honking
At me as I wait at
The street-car stop innocently:
Fuck you.