Wednesday, April 26, 2017

crisis pt. ii

dear GI Joe
even with the green of your fatigues
the rainforest refuses to accept you
even though your bullets are shaped
like grains of rice this land is still

dear agent orange
you have cratered the faces of infants
before they are born leaving wounds
on lips that have never been kissed
rotting wombs until all they birth is

dear viet cong
we have been made sandbags in a war
of attrition turned into straw men
in the face of flamethrowers mere
fodder for the machine gun maws that left us

I have watched my brothers raise guns
at one another in the name of ghosts
and our ancestors weep because we have
forsaken their offerings choosing instead
to consume the hollow point hope that both sides
have offered but will never deliver

even they can not tell the difference
between friend and foe as both offer
an open hand as long as we offer an open
bed and a full stomach at the expense of
our hungry children

these houses are just as flammable
as their promises they offer the same
protection from mortar shell raindrops
as the banana leaves offer shade in the
napalm sun

in the city all the men have become
brass casings with the gunpowder of
their souls burnt out by American made
rifle barrels and wiping away their sins
from the skin with American dollars

in the back alleys women trade their
flesh for the security only American
muscle can offer but even American muscle
knows its limits and when to pull out
the women hurt so their children won’t

and the children grow up as bastards
half native half invader never knowing
if they should rebuild what has been
broken or break what has been rebuilt

so America I ask you this
in exchange for the spirit shaped like rubble
in exchange for the ashes of our homes and our families
in exchange for the future of our children

what do we get?

this is all we have to offer

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