Picketers representing the National Association of Colored Women march past the White House in Washington, DC, July 30, 1956 (Photo: AP)
Stand in solidarity with our Councilmember
(Versus voices of white supremacy/death…)
I.
Distant echoes—Sun revolving ‘round flat
Earth— ‘round Inquisition; witch-burning;
‘round bubonic plague— 'round pre-printing
press politics…
Embalmed voices—decomposing pogrom tones—
crunch like dry leaves beneath boots of Strike-tober;
beneath street heat of George Floyd Summer; beneath
Occupy; Arab Spring— beneath history’s forward march…
II.
Prancing peacock proud, tiny stickers boasted,
“I VOTED—”
Hired her to argue and
Fight for us. Sent her to City Hall. Tolt her, “Say
what we say…” Axed her, “Amplify Our voices—
Speak truth and Voice Our choices—
while we work; babysit; help with homework; care
for loved ones/neighbors; make art, money, love, babies.”
Suddenly, sunup to sundown King Cotton voices spit
Bullwhip white noise; Spit 1619 stripes at Black backs… again…
plantation overseer voices—
Civil War amputation without anesthesia voices;
Leaking faucet, running toilet voices; Artificial
intelligence/false consciousness voices call… again…
Asthmatic nazi phlegm voices call… again…
Wheezing, wicked, weaponized, “I can’t breathe!”
Jangling, quavering, nicotine hoarse, death squad
soldier, plastic police voices call… again…
Scowling, steely, tinny fingernails across chalkboard voices;
Glock muzzle mouths to burner phone voices call… again…
Gravelly, gaslit, graveyard, good guy with gun voices
call… again… Troll farm, tiki torch, bestial, bear
spray, January 6th, criminal, Charlottesville voices call… again…
Pacific-prowling aircraft carrier filled with shit voices call… again…
Nasal, hollow, clean coal, fracking fluid/fart voices call… again…
Death rattle, decomposing system on life support voices call… again…
But, hissing, filibustering, burning cross voices—Jim Crow, Bull
Connor, Tulsa, Rosewood, Red Summer, lynching voices will not rob us
of representation…. again…
Bloody Mary, banana republican poll tax, “How many bubbles
in a bar of soap?” “How many jelly beans in a jar?” voices will
not disenfranchise us…. again…
© 2023. Raymond Nat Turner, The Town Crier. All Rights Reserved.
Raymond Nat Turner is a NYC poet; BAR's Poet-in-Residence; and founder/co-leader of the jazz-poetry ensemble UpSurge!NYC. You can Vote for his work at: GoFundMe and PayPal.
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