Then all the people shall say, “Amen!”
Deuteronomy 27: 19
Do not be deceived
You are cursed already
America,
You are cursed.
When the night is still or the day pinched with frenzy
You can hear it below the hubbub of your facile clergies and clinging pundits.
In the contentious conversation between a man and a woman
Right or wrong, everyone knows where the rights lie.
It is in the cries of hungry children
Maybe not down the street, but rather in one of the many anonymous shit-hole locations of this world
A place of scarcity, where rice from America was a godsend and now just an empty trumpet call.
It is in the sound of marching feet and angry voices
Who call on their idol and shout the words
“You will not replace us!”
In the mewing drivel of sycophantic journalists
To disingenuous flattery of bootlicker politicians
In the scritching sound of a cheap lighter in the dirty hand of a homeless man
Warming the bottom of a glass pipe
Two feet off the sidewalk on Lancaster Drive
As children walk past on their way to school.
In the sound of the wind
Ripping leaves from young trees in June, drying them, kindling grasses
Driving fires across landscapes
Spinning twirling in the Caribbean and on tornado alley
You can hear it calling, yelling, shrieking in the metaphorical wind that is your inheritance.