The Comfortable Ones

This poem is for the comfortable ones. For the bureaucrats who exist to insure their existence. For the civil servants who are not civil and do not serve. For the teachers who teach what to think but don’t know how to think. For the policeman who serve capital and protect property. For the doctors selling health, the lawyers selling justice, and the politicians selling their souls. For the upwardly mobile, down pressing, respectable, well mannered, individualist. For the use-to-bees, claim-to-bees, and wanna-bees. This poem -is for the wealthy ones. For their peace absent justice, structurally adjusted, debt servicing, payment balancing, . . .

My Wise Country Cousin on Unca Jim Clyburn an de Sharp Rite Turn

Son, it look lak Unca Jim say, “Las’ time I chek I’se de whip— an’ got no time fo’ young Negroz wit all dey Blak Life lip…” He say, “de Bibull  speak ob “spoilin’ de chile by sparin’ de rod!” as he read de Riot Ak to whippasnappas ob ‘de Squad…’ “We rescued yo’ po’ asses frum Boss Tweet—de main dangur— lak pullin’ Negroz feet frum fire ob W wit de Drone Rangur!” We gib ‘de lef’ movin’ space wit Ol’ Blak Schmo an’ Ladee Blu— what else can me, Miss Nancy, Cap’n Steny an’ Tio Tomas do? Jim say, . . .