Not Gone With the Wind

Not gone with the wind
the road to Tara stretches back
towards us. Slavery an ancient tale
of unreconstructed violence.

lynch mobs with hoods.
mis-used trees a weapon of hatred,
twisted into knots. Nameless headstones
in the air. Humanity left suspended.

buses an ill-timed excursion
into the past. Black dignity segregated,
humiliation in the back seats.
No time-table for justice.

uniformed hostility in
the precincts. Where riots originate.
Where a police beacon goes out
leaving only darkness.

walking in the streets a new
version of Russian roulette.
Chances of survival
a number on a badge.

cell phones film the truth. Small screens
now big critics. Ring-tone jingles louder
than gunshots. Music ricochets
as dead notes fall away.

coffin lids close on injustice.
Young, unarmed and black
no defence. So take the historical knee.
Black lives matter.

Alan Ford has been writing poetry for about eight months and is interested in unusual subjects rather than traditional ones. His work has been published by literary magazines Down in the Dirt and Ariel Chart. Read other articles by Alan.