my passport was stolen
from the backseat of my van
a hidden place violated
and in its place
an expired passport of a guy
born in 1922
(let him remain anonymous)
though his thick brown moustache
could give him away
and there’s more:
right rear wheel was gone
van creaked left on a scissors-jack
spare tire walked
or never was
scene two:
a dozen of us marching
up centre avenue on the sidewalk
signs say stop police violence
a motorcycle cop
buzzes over with a cold tense look
ultimately
peels away without word
it was the centre avenue before
urban removal
people actually sitting on their stoops
watching us......not quite believing
we were pale gray
tho our banners
many colors
destination a bushy hilltop
known as sugar hill
we scatter what time is left
for dreams imagined
& real
--- e b bortz
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment