FURTHER OBSERVATIONS OF A FURIOUS BLEND 1 Mostly a man, carrying a gigantic gun, death and disease causing a certain patriotism. Parading the dreams of thieves he stands where he wants to before settling on a position among who he believes are trusty brothers. The gigantic gun seems to carry him even though his shoulder submits, at times it outsizes how small he seems to be, even though the media has a specific size for him, a choice several stations select to pass off a threat I dismiss. How he turns up on the steps or poised like a soldier in halls of so many government buildings-- I am sure you have seen him there. Seemingly so confident, unalone and unafraid, the gigantic gun falling over him like a fashion chosen by those brothers, everything to do with a white Romerica. Something has stolen the man inside all the appearances and marching brings nothing more than he had... the gun will never be big enough in order for those trusted brothers to be men too, something so seen, so obvious, let his longing out to be as white as his willing hatred. 2 Mostly a woman lifting a legible slogan, birth and burden write: “Caring For One Another is Right!” Hearing the dreams of marchers a question keeps being asked, “Is this how she’ll be a part of change?” Over there beside the burnt cop-shop, over there beside all the murdered black loved ones, stolen from a family somewhere, to be left in a cemetery to be alive forever. Her voice is from all the voices I hear in the marches, in my other family members who choose to carry the colour of skin in other than the weight on faces, carrying it on placards and signs made for the day it could be seen and able to speak, the colour of, the skin of, all of them like a harmony, like a collection, like what she says about a country, a house so sick, a house so white, yeah, you know it, where traitors and liars enjoy success, all being part of what so many eyes see. A woman has taken back sanity what can be defined as a “return- to-sender” put in rising fists, and then when the streets want more voices, more of other than the furious blend, it is good, it is all about how what is going on out there in Romerica, brought down by a red-headed misleader, put in place by an addict in love with the mix he needs daily: fraud, incarceration, racism, cheating, infamous addictions labelled a presidency, the reason to walk with her dealing in some further observations, lucrative when another election brings reprieve, points to a way out and a way in, a future less eager to be a mystery.
Chad Norman’s most recent books are Squall: Poems in the Voice of Mary Shelley, released this spring by Guernica Editions, and Selected & New Poems, from Mosaic Press. He lives in Truro, Nova Scotia.
See also: Megaphones in a parade, a poem by Chad Norman
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