If I hear one more Black poet
Connect the words
“Remember,” “slaves,”
“Brainwashed” and “backwards”
To the words
“Smart money”
“Entrepreneurship”
And “respectable leaders”
I will have to sock them in the face.
If I continue to hear poems
About how we, the average person,
Are “so lost,” “greedy” and “backwards,”
In essence, saying that we are to blame
For our economic problems,
I will have to sock them in the face.
If I hear another poem
Spitting about how the real problem
With the world is patriarchy
And that war is driven by the male ego
With no financial interest
Of the world’s richest men and women
Taken into account,
I will have to sock them in the face.
If I hear another Christian poem
Telling good people that they’re going to Hell,
I will have to sock them in the face.
If I hear anyone of any religion
Be it in poetry, or otherwise,
Try to explain the socio-economic conditions
Of the Hell that we live in
By referring to Samsara, Karma,
An Original Sin in the Garden of Eden,
Fate, signs,
Or misdeeds,
Bad luck,
Maybe just failing to keep our heads up,
Or that we all simply didn’t work hard enough,
I will have to smack them in the face.

I’m also tired of tales of the wealthy
And how they’re just as miserable as all of us
And how that could be some kind of reason
To smile and simmer in
The pile of shit we’re sitting in
And let it all continue happening.

They’ll tell you that suffering
Builds character.
Let’s describe some of our character traits:
Lack of access to affordable education
Proper nutrition,
Healthcare, housing,
A fucking tank of gas,
Breakfast

Can’t afford
Vaccinations
Paid vacations
Desk jobs
No jobs but still having money.
Money to marry
Money to separate
Money for independence
Money without a landlord
Or a real estate agent, the bank,
Breathing down your neck.
Money for favors.
Money for placement, prestige
Money for counselors and therapists.
Money for the blessings of Billy Graham,
The Pope
A new age guru
A talk show personality
A swami, a monk, an imam,
Money to be forgiven and keep on living
With no sins to be forgiven.
Money for judges, trials, city councils,
For everlasting innocence.
Money for land, labor
Money to be protected by the army
And the cops.

No swollen bellies,
No lack of utilities,
No cold nights if it can be helped
No starvation
No life in trashbins, in blankets under an overpass
In tents, ghettos, slums, trailer parks, shanty towns.
Places where they call you a nigger,
A spic,
A chink,
A gouk,
An illegal
A whino, a bum,
A hick, a redneck, trailer trash, white trash,
Where you’re as good as trash
And yeah, the rich have it bad.

A fireplace,
A full bed with clean sheets
A bottle of brandy to drink all of your maladjusted
Rich family problems away.
Pills to take, food to eat, to recover from the hangover.

A tall can of malt liquor
Finally bought after hours of begging on a street corner
And then, later, return.
A headache and desperation in the morning.
There will be no recovery.

This is reality and it is global.
It is that of the rich and the poor all over the world.
It is beyond national borders and barriers
It speaks different languages
It is called transnational capitalist exploitation.
It’s in the paper, in Forbes magazine,
It’s what you see in the streets,
It’s what you see out in the country.

It’s plain to see.
So see it.
Before I have to sock you in the face
For writing another stupid poem.