“the war speaks at night
with its lips of shredded children,”
—Tyehimba Jess,
Black community says: fix “poverty.”
I ask where he’s working. He says, “Illegally.”
I worry I think the answer’s poetry.
He says he can’t move his hand, he’s doing poorly.
Says, “We need more jobs.” Leaves, says I’m too “cop-vibe”-y.
Black community says: fix “poverty.”
Inside a car, a man crying. Not quite payday.
Says it’s been a long day, his face all teary.
I worry I think the answer’s poetry.
2 adults, 2 teens shot on this property
2 days ago—foot, foot, shoulder, chest injury.
Black community says: fix “poverty.”
I ask if he’s OK. He says, “yeah,” politely.
He says the problem’s “gun stores.” They’re making money.
I worry I think the answer’s poetry.
White community’s answer is to “pray.”
I worry I can only think binary.
Black community says: fix “poverty.”
I worry I think the answer’s poetry.
Ron Riekki co-edited Undocumented: Great Lakes Poets Laureate on Social Justice.
