Days are the ticking of the clock
goin' round, alarms sound
beginning the day's race
through green, yellow, red
changing too fast in the day
slowed down to flashing in the night.
Pedestrians march past city pigeons,
seldom startled into flight,
church bells chiming, car alarms
beeping and whining, merchants
unlocking and raising their gates.
Clank of change in computerized
drawers, retrograde fashions
clogging the stores, clandestine
smokers block office building
doors. Fast cars with vanity
plates pass panhandlers with box
card signs, begging the movers
for ten times a dime.
And some shady man
sellin' contra band
taps me on the shoulder
he said "We ain't gonna get much older,
seems all the world is thieves,
straight at the top,
it ain't gonna stop this
foolish land of plenty bit,
and you and I we be gettin by
by just ignoring all this shit."
He said, "Take my hand you
gotta make a stand, to deal with
this unnatural life."He said, 'Have
smoke, you'll see it's all a joke,
then you'll be naturally aware,
then you won't have to care,
'bout sellin' and buyin'
Wind blows suddenly
against a porch chime,
angelic sound slows
down too fast time
jangled on the wind.
Copyright 9/94 Linda Joy Burke
This Poem originally appeared in "When Divas Laugh" Edited by Chezia Cager
available at Black Classic Press