Plantation Nation

There's no breeze to stir the stifling humid air.
The sun is low. It's almost gone. Its final
Rays have cast the shadow of the master's
Collonaded home so long across the land,
And, in that shadow, evil lives. A dark-
Skinned man hangs from a tree. The ghosts
Of human properties move slowly through
The cotton fields, their wretched sons and
Daughters still enslaved in prisons, shot
On sight, routinely cursed and scorned.
The master's sons and daughters watch
Them warily. They carry guns. Their
Own kids, in their private schools, repeat
Unquestioned platitudes. "Our nation is
The promised land. All men in it are
Free and equal. Anybody with the drive
Deserves to be the president" except
The one who we have now. His skin
Is dark. He's one of them, they
Hiss from places deep within the
Shadow on the land.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 51 times
Written on 2016-05-24 at 19:10

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