He does not want our change but wants our souls,
this black man begging in the crowded train,
warning of God’s wrath, fire, tears and pain
in a voice straight and steely as this pole.
What gives him the right to stand and tell
this herd, who’s not his flock, they’ll go to hell?
A flare is tripped; I want to swing and whack
his jaw. I don’t because the others will frown,
because you don’t kick a man when he is down,
and down is what I often think of black.
I hate the weak who try hard to be strong.
The really strong I can face and attack
but from the weak, so greedy for right and wrong,
so sure of what they deserve, I hold back.
I am reading as one of four features at the Cornelia Street Cafe. It'd be lovely to see you there if you can make it. I hope to read some new poems too.
Date: April 23 (Sun)
Time: 6 - 8 p.m.
Place: Cornelia Street Cafe (link below)
Admission: $6 (includes one drink)
No open mike.