When Deferred Dreams Become Blurred Visions
(Apropos of Hughes’s Proverbial Question)
What happens when rotten strange fruit…
Hanging from trees of auction block wood
Become stinking pieces of black flesh…dried blood
Putrefying in murderous streets…?
When crystallized tears of remorse…Laden and loaded
With explosive grief…flow down weary faces
Wrinkled by time’s trials, tribulations…treacherousness—
And neglect of freedom, justice and equality
All become like inconsequential sunned raisins and festering sores…?
When visions of deferred dreams become blurred realities—
Fogged by the steam of volcanic anger—Pray tell…What happens?
Pray tell…What happens? And then what?—Pray tell!
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