For Cm
Cluade, here I am, where your feet have stood
Far from the mountain flung across the sea
Where the poincianna is aglitter, and wood doves brood
On things less tedious than our dark history
O poet laureate, if your spirit police Harlem now
And see my black face, sweating in her street
See my spirit too, bondaged but will not bow
Armed with courage I fight each day's defeat
Filled with love I fondle fondly her fickle feet,
And hear her hiss in the clenching of the teeth.
You gave her renaissance pool and palace bright
She gives me nothing but anxieties through the night.
O Claude, greatest of all the Clarendon's McKay
I give nothing, and shall not flinch to see decay.
Copyright © L'Nass Shango | Year Posted 2009
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