Poem #102

They are looking…

I remember one joke,  one particularly, one insensitive joke,
and I hear this insensitive joke in the Appalachian voice of my father,
“What do you call a shed full of black people?”
“The answer”, he replies, “is Antique machinery.”

I heard a story,
out of Miami University,
about the South and Slavery,
which gave me the memory.

I remember a year ago, when I lived with my parents,
I remember they disliked numerous presidents,
I remember, most recently, it was because of the color of his skin,
I remember the sense of elitism,
I remember the white privilege,
I remember suburbia,
I remember the Mid-West,
I remember the bible markets,
I remember the courthouse, but more specifically, I remember the Ku-Klux judges
I remember those judges hanging in the county seat by their black and white portraits,
I remember the scent of coffee,
I remember the TV,
I remember Westerns,
I remember each torture device from church in memory of Jesus Christ on every wall,
I remember that a degree is worthless,

My inquiry into family history
consists of assuming, as my own blood,
the blood from a different story,
of learning the difference
between indenture and slavery,
of “Moses” McGuire serving his sentence
farming to own property in Virginia territory,
only to espouse propriety and condone slavery
before the end of the century.

What does a refugee
have to do to belong to a new country?
I think in context of President Trump’s executive order, currently,
exaggerating if a Muslim were an indentured servant
could it be any different?
If they worked some fields could they finally
have a sense of entitlement and say they worked to earn being free?

Really, I oversimplify. What is the cost of acceptance? What is the cost of admittance?
Muslim is like an Atheist, Bi-sexual, Socialist, Activist, Poet,
and there is another crusade and you are outside and outside everyone has a fist,
and they are looking for another savage, and they are looking for another witch,
and they are looking for another Yippie, and they are looking for a number of mad stimulus and they are looking on  a number of mad downers in easy distribution on the streets, and why do their eyes never hurt from looking so much?
Tyrants descended from Oedipus have already removed their eyes.
I’ve watched the worst minds of my decades built up into Tyrants
looking for their happy place,

Their happy place looks much like hell
and the demons, they say, are angels
underneath the initial illumination of wings and halos
they are wearing green fatigues and sporting infantry rifles,
and if you are looking for a parallel
between these National watch dogs
and runic, Germanic Schutzstaffel,
they remind you, with authority, underneath their heel,
“It’s wise to move along.”



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