Old Man Sun God by Jessica Mookherjee

I am not a silent poet

At noon they burn, in their light blue tracksuits and slogans,

The law is the law and the law is light; They chant

near where the kid was shot dead, left on the road for hours –

while his mother screamed.

They tell the cameras, Someone’s got to stand for the police

buy wristbands – outside the police-station,  All Lives Matter –

a million dollars raised for the cop’s retirement fund.

they huddle from darkness; as the black man

in his white t-shirt, that says peace and hope, walks towards them.

Oh here goes, one mutters, reaching for his Beemiller handgun.

At noon, ancestor father-sun, creator of the Osage-Sioux,

clicks his teeth and sits outside his burger-joint; smoking pipe,

he laughs, remembers how there was nothing he could do

to help his tribe. Those forced relocations to Kansas

dustbowls in the eighteen hundreds. He lost his power.

View original post 128 more words

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s