we rode a white hearse
and high on the saddle
we plowed through the streets
where bodies were wading
speeding up, the blur
of little nappy heads
dirty pink dollies
clutched in brown hands
spilling over bruised curbs
saliva, urine, blood
dripping down
the bowels of city sewers
a tattered eminence
hunched over his papers,
nervously fingering his
nickels and quarters
toppled garbage cans
ripple bottles, neck bones,
egg shells and coffee grounds
wrapped in yesterday's news
a steely, searing gray cloud
rippled over broken backs,
empty stomachs and dashed hopes
hobbled and scarred
the armies turned on their own
pent up cattle sensing in the air
the sledge hammer of the butcher
preparing for the kill
( The Chicago race riots of 1967 )
Long ago and far away,
a lady's maid-in-waiting lay
upon her bed of straw, one restless night.
Mightily she tried to sleep,
but keeping count of stars and sheep
could scarcely ease the young girl's sorry plight.
Full of rage and discontent,
resentful of the life she spent
attending to the Lord and Master's wife.
Rife with feelings of despair,
the fair young maiden then and there
resolved to seek a more rewarding life.