This Poem Wants 2 B a Revolutionary

This poem wants to make a change . . . To be a strong yet silent raised fist in Mexico, 1968. To stand at a window w/a shotgun writing the words “By any means necessary” To sit in at a lunch counter in Birmingham, Alabama Until it is read To start a breakfast program in Compton, California In order to feed hungry minds To stand up for its rights in Akron, Ohio and shout, “Aint I a poem?” To integrate an all white book store under protection of the National Guard And when George Wallace says to it, “You will not enter unless it’s over my cold, dead, body. . .” This poem will gladly take him up on his offer But now this poem feels that perhaps it is too militant, Maybe it and Spike should just “Do the Right Thing” . . . Take the hand of other poems deep in the South Georgia woods and lead them to freedom Under cover of night-light Take its brothers and sisters out of the man’s world and Into Aaron’s “Boondocks” Play its own music, live in Jamaica and Grow Nappy Locs Start a union with A. Phillip down at the docks Be read by Martin while being pelted with rocks Find out what would happen “If Beale Street Could Talk”. . . This poem will get accused of “Ego Trippin” but will not take it personally, declaring, “And Still I Rise” It will invite other poems to a free concert headlined by Marvin, Stevie, Chuck D, and Black Thought It will do what it should, not what others think it ought This poem will be munificent . . . Will give because so much has been given to it Will do because so much has been done for it Will be able to sit down because so many others have Stood up But this poem can not sit still for long Because this poem has been disenfranchised . . . This poem was told there is no longer a need For affirmative action only to have it replaced with definitive inaction This poem cast a vote in Florida, only to be told that it did not count This poem observed its commander in thief, fly over rising waters in the Lower Ninth Ward just to keep his feet from getting wet This poem watched its country expand our “melting pot” to include all types of ingredients, Then scrape the black off the bottom of the pan . . . and send it back to Haiti on a raft This poem has been pulled over for being DWI (drafted with intelligence) This poem was profiled at Hartsfield Airport, And made to take off it’s . . . blues. This poem never planted any genus of Bush, It’s not concerned with whom you marry, Nor does it desire to trade the blood of young soldiers for oil, but look what it got No wonder, This poem wants 2 b a revolutionary . . .