Three Sonnets

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He was hit by a car in 2004

Bedridden, mind messed up on Vicadin

He’s told he’d get back on the bike again

Run & boogaloo like he did before.

Meanwhile, in the real world far away

The Bush Economy and internet

Are destroying jobs and raising the rent

And the doctor screwed up the surgery.

And I think of the warmth spun by the word

Around its center the dream called ourselves

Divine language and songs of mice and elves

Sweeter than the sounds which Keats never heard

Possibility more sweet than this prose
Trying to redeem the thorn with the rose

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I am charmed by her jumpy unclear prose

Because she reminds us we’re important

That life’s a gift that shouldn’t be shortened

If we have any say. Her essay shows

How hearts are hungry for food that won’t come

But if we don’t go chasing waterfalls

And forgive ourselves for seeming so small

Then we could make a feast from all these crumbs

Despite the cops and injustice system—

The corporate media that fuels white fear

Pushing it with lies that turn a deaf ear

To Justice and to the constitution

As the rallying cry “Hands Up, Don’t Shoot”

Becomes the racist taunt: “Pants up, don’t loot.”

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I grew up in a segregated land

But it seemed radio was different than

The reality. Whites and blacks listened

And mingled on airwaves like that song “Stand”

By Sly & The Family Stone. It’s not post

Racial but points to what America—

Despite the white lies of academia—

Could be, a culture that’s no idle boast.

Then radio turned as segregated

As college when six big corporations

Tightened playlists coz they owned more stations

While their CEOs played in their gated

Communities & ethnically cleansed down

Towns afraid of the spirit going 'round