25 Nov

Johnny and his friends bent steel with their hands,
sent rocks and bottles at cars full of white

revelers on the Sunday streets of Birmingham.
A black church had been bombed, four young lives taken. 

Johnny cussed and flung his reprimand
till the law came.  Johnny ran, but a cop and shotgun

did him in, like a hurricane ripping a door out
from its jamb.  In the alley, dust, and a flow of desperation.

A small stream had risen, had breached its banks,
and there was no earthen levee that could hold him.

Any thoughts?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: