TURN THAT MUSIC DOWN, BOY

by Joe Pacheco

If you’re black, don’t ever stop
In a store down Florida way,
If your radio aint turned down low
This is what they’ll say

Turn that music down, boy
Turn that music down
Pistol packin’ white man
Is here to stand his ground.

He won’t step back with the gun he’ll pack
He’ll just fire another round.
Unless you choose to not refuse
He’ll be forced to stand his ground.

Turn that music down, boy
Turn that music down,
Pistol packin’ white man
Came here to stand his ground.

He didn’t cry to see Jordan die
But ordered pizza in the town.
With his “fiancée” he drove away
And later wolfed three slices down.

Turn that music down, boy
Turn that music down,
Pistol packin’ white man
Came here to stand his ground.

“It’s murder one they found no gun.”
Was not what the jury found.
“Attempted” is the best you’ll get
When a white man stands his ground.

Turn that music down, boy
Turn that music down,
Pistol packin’ white man
In Florida stands his ground.


Joseph Pacheco is a retired New York City superintendent living on Sanibel Island.  His poetry has been featured several times on National Public Radio’s Morning Edition, Latino USA and WGCU. He has performed his poetry with David Amram’s jazz quartet at the Bowery Poets Café and Cornelia Street Café in New York City. He writes a poetry column for the Sanibel Islander and his poetry has appeared in English and Spanish in the News-Press. In 2008 he received the Literary Artist of the Year award from Alliance for the Arts. He has published three books of poetry, The First of the Nuyoricans/Sailing to Sanibel,  Alligator in the Sky and most recently in June, Sanibel Joe’s Songbook. 

STAND YOUR GROUND

by Emily Pittman Newberry

Cartoon by Mike Lukovich

There is a 9 mm gun
that cracked the door open
to no tomorrow.

There is a story
of two young men
with only one voice
left standing.

There is blood
on the ground
and tears flowing
from the heavens.

There is a state
that loses justice,
raises safety
on a pedestal
and gets death
in the mail.

There is a community
that puts its frustration
at past crimes
into the holster
of a man.

There is a teenager
eating skittles,
and the news says
too much sugar
can kill you.

There is a trial
and the rule of law rules
that 9 millimeters
of assumptions
and 300 years
of black history
are not admissible
as evidence.

There is a twitterverse
where dueling assumptions
give voice
to well intended fears
and the hopes
of competing histories
have no ending.



Emily Pittman Newberry is a performance poet and writer living in Portland Oregon.