by Bradley McIlwain
Whitman—
I hear the chains
Across N. America
At Capitol Hill
Where we’ve all become
Capital—
Loose change
In the pockets
Of pirate politicians
We elected
To change—
Only to decline it;
False prophets
Who paid God
To burn Sodom & Gommorah
But they can’t kill my pride
The way they put a bullet
In Bonnie & Clyde.
People are still dying—
Trayvon. Floyd. Till—
Still, they shot Lewis in bed
Like Billy the Kid
20—unarmed
Dreams spilling out onto the sheets.
Ohio weeps in the streets.
Neil Young heard the drums;
Police are cutting us down—
What’s at the heart of it all?
You abolish slavery,
But commercialize prisons;
One shackle for another,
Brother divided by brother
Under the foot
Of the blood spangled banner
Still soaked in the soil
Of migrant workers
From the states to the border
Across bus stops and shelters—
The buck doesn’t stop
At Roe v. Wade
When in a state of insanity
Some judge decides
In a state of supremacy
That women no longer
Have control
Over their bodies?
Over… my… dead… body
It’s time
To untuck injustice where it lies
Unbury the dead
And loosen their tongues
So we can unlearn
The things our fathers
Have done—and do.
I no longer trust in God
The way I trusted in you.
The all seeing eye
Has lost its shine
And I see you
In tent cities
Crying out for food—
Whitman,
Our people yearn.
We are the choir
Of others raging
For freedom across the voiceless night,
Rattling the chains for change.
Bradley McIlwain works as a Teacher-Librarian, where he strives to provide meaningful and inclusive spaces for knowledge exchange and advocacy. He believes that poems and poets can be agents for social change. Bradley’s latest book, Dear Emily, was published by Roasted Poet Press in July.
