Wintertime in America

By Rudolph Lewis  

We at the table

of promise

have been turned away

The sheriff’s office

set a roadblock—

There’s no dry 

ground here for you.

That’s how they speak

to this warm brown face

They shift the bullets

into the chambers

& are ready to fire

We’re not watching

As an Act of Protest

the angst, the mad

scribbling of  hip poets

It’s our neighbor

now pressed to the wall

The people of Darfur

cross the border

into Chad. 

We’re sent to the Bronx.

flown to Utah. We

shifted to places

we don’t want to be

like pieces in a game. . .

Our forecast is freezing rain.

Responses

Rudolph, Yes, it's cold in the belly of the whale. Nice poem. –Linda

posted 15 January 2005