Category: Fried Chicken

In the summer when your curtains
play with the wind
my eyes turn
to your open window.
I linger
and tumble down
until
I am thoughts of things
that were and were not.

In the fall when colors blare
signaling a coming or a going
I gather and I do not
I pass your window
there is a sense of harvest
a time of cornucopia
a feeling the grain bins
of the spirit will be filled
the time of growing has yielded
to maturation.

Winter comes and freezes on your window
I am more huddled now
your drapes not animate
your window will not look at me.

Then there is spring
with its pastels of inconsistencies
I hold my longing as I do my breath.

I am outside the seasons.
There is no face that waits
no heart upon the curtains
why look at that awkward window
except I might see you there.

“Discrimination is a hellhound that gnaws at Negroes in every waking moment of their lives to remind them that the lie of their inferiority is accepted as truth in the society dominating them”. – Martin Luther King Jr

We don’t want zeppelins.
no matter how badnificent.
We want unfettered dreams
so we can soar
air need not apply.

We want uplifting flight
without anyone thinking
we are no more than wax.

We bled in willy-nilly wars
to prove we are airmen.
What we want now is acres
where lambs don’t eat lions
because they can
afford to
have been taught
have learned
father to son
father to son
father to son
that is the way
the world can be.

We won’t be barbequed
on the lawn
or flamingoed anymore.
Nor will we hold your horse.
We will sit astride
a beast of cosmic portent
and consider heaven
or hell
and holes black enough
to contend with our stature.

We don’t want constructs
of men removed from apes.

We want the languish
of lakes and rivers
ponds and streams
seas and oceans.
We want to flow together
without one current greater
for more than a moment
before changing place.

Yes, that’s what we want.