De volgende twee gedichten van Raymond Nat Turner komen van Black Agenda Report, verdere woorden zijn overbodig:
Raymond
Nat Turner,
BAR poet-in-residence 10
Jan 2019
7
Year Olds Dying In Third Reich ‘Detention’
“Papi,
are we there—
are we almost there?”
Wide-eyed
incantation
of a child, three feet plus/
60 pounds.
Exodus
leaving the lowland
six days before birthday 7…
“Papi,
are we there—
are we almost there?”
Beaming birthday
celebrant
on the bus munching an un-
crushed pink frosted
cookie
from Papi’s beat up backpack
“Papi,
are we there—
are we almost there?”
Her small, soft hands
celebrating
Heroics of an unshaven face chasing
Dreams; dreams
of pine tree scents
and small gifts—compliments of magic
of
his hands. Dreams of the doll her
Mother promised, before dying
suddenly;
Dreams of asylum from violence, fleeing
extractive
capitalism’s suction tube tentacles…
Papi
also had dreams of “J-Bird,” as he
called her, teaching school
and university
with compassion and skill she instructed
stick
dolls he’d crafted from fallen branches
“Papi,
are we there—
are we almost there?”
springing up and down
on her
invisible trampoline, Papi’s promises
of a Christmas
tree and celebration in
California, in America…racing
through
her amazed and amazing mind.
Papi was proud. His back
burned and
ached. He clenched his teeth, when she
dozed off to
sleep. His stomach growled,
rattling sunken sides. He went
without
eating so her belly would be full. He took
tiny swigs
of water so she’d have enough…
(Football
fans who love players that ‘play
through
pain;’ Basketball fans who love
players that ‘create their own
shots,’ does
chasing dreams thousands of miles
through
government/gang infested swamps—bad back
7 yr. old in
tow—show up in your thicket of
statistics and fantasy?)
“Papi,
are we there—
are we almost there?”
To her the bumpy ride
jarring dreams,
juggling her belly up and down was an
Adventure.
And Papi had prepared her for
it with bedtime stories where
everyone lived
Happily ever after…
Arriving
at a ‘border’ swarming with
uniformed thugs: 3/5
human—igloos
pumping raw sewage through veins
whistling
“Dixie” prying Papi and “J-Bird”
Apart.
Her forehead a
105 degree radiator; body
spasming, eyes rolling ‘round in their
sockets
tummy evicting food Papi fed her—
Terrorist tricks to
breach the border, enter the
U.S.— as were delirious, distorted,
slow motion
Last words…
“Papi, are we there—
are we
almost there?”
©
2018. Raymond Nat Turner, The Town Crier. All Rights Reserved.
Waiting
on Capitalist Hill…
Trumpeted
Blue Wave Bar & Grill, at the foot of
Capitalist Hill
Hearty
meals for labor’s dime, truncated time…
Heard ads, read rave
reviews, received frenzied
phone calls from friends touting
Single-Payer
Pasta to die for; delicious Grilled Green New
Deal
and Gluten Free Education; otherworldly
Affordable Housing Hors
d’oeuvres—and taste
of the hereafter Impeachment Cobbler!
Could
this be true—another case of deja vu—
frowning Maître D;
hearing throat-clearing?
“Hmm…” our reservation… can’t
be found?
Finally seated besides swinging doors—pots,
pans,
plates, ‘talk’ show banter serenading us…
Until a mummified
moll appears hands on hips,
hissing, “You order antipasti?
Fresh
out, hon’—how ‘bout a heaping helping of
Unca Jim?”
Presto! A servile, overbearing Black
server’s at our throats and
1% boots…
They mock our orders in shrill unison and
high-five:
“Off the table! Off the table! Off the table! Off the
table!”
We
shout, “What do you fuckin’ serve?” They shoot back,
“You
knew the menu—you knew what we do—Order up!
Pentagon Cooked
Books on Endless War Endive; War-
Profiteer Pork Chops with
Dictator du Jour Soup; Apartheid
State Steak,White Phosphorus
Seared; Blackened Bailout on
Toasted Too Big To Fail Flatbread;
Order up! Wall Street Stew,
some sweet nothings too? 1% Pineapple
Upside Down Cake?
Flip-the-House Flan with Trickle Down Tea? Hey,
take it or
leave it, hon’…
Or, talk to the bosses: Tony
Missiles, Jake Greasy Thumb
Oil, Al Big Ag, Bugsy Big Pharma,
Crazy Joe Protection…”
©
2018. Raymond Nat Turner, The Town Crier. All Rights Reserved.
Our
poet in residence Raymond Nat Turner is an acclaimed performing
articst. Find much more of his work at http://upsurgejazz.com.