Wars come home…

You’ve seen men’s severed
Heads roll like bloody bowling
Balls, bodies stacked like logs,
Amputated limbs like cords of
Wood—you’ve seen and done
Things no fiancé, bride, spouse,
Soul mate or partner will ever
Understand; you’ve played God,
Judge, jury and executioner enough
To have mastered the roles; but
Yes, of course, in the ‘unpacked’
Philosophical, textbook, Biblical
Realm of things, “Black lives matter,”
“Brown lives matter,” “All lives matter…”

So, today, you sit in a circle with
Other actors, crying thimbles full of
Leaden tears, for brown bag rewards
Of dope, rewards for war crimes
Corporate masters seduced you to
Commit, brown bags of dope causing
You to shoot, hang, poison yourselves
Twenty-two times a day, or fire brazenly
In backs of Black and Brown ‘enemies’
Fleeing glaring high beams, ’roid rage, 90-
Proof, psychotropic purple haze, fearing
For lives, like soldiers bringing wars…home…

Former forklift driver/warehouse worker/janitor, Raymond Nat Turner is a NYC poet; BAR's Poet-in-Residence; and founder/co-leader of the jazz-poetry ensemble UpSurge!NYC. Read other articles by Raymond Nat, or visit Raymond Nat's website.