Drawing by Lawrence Dinkins, Jr. | |
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A WALL BETWEEN
By Lawrence Dinkins, Jr. There is a wall between You and us A wall of money Stretching high and far Beyond the human eye Overcastting vivid memories Going back decades; wait, no— Centuries Built on a foundation Of bone, blood and greed Like a conjure This wall appeared out of vapor On paper and in our minds It cannot be touched But it is everywhere Every time you look at us There it is Blocking your view of us Like a two way mirror We see you But the only thing you can see is that We are not you This wall separates, divides and strangles Your side— Plush and flowing with milk and honey Our side— Sparse and stagnant with rot and crumbling neglect Yet undeniably We are one Like two halves of a dysfunctional Siamese twin One ripping away from the other While the other begs to be loved One despising the other While the other begs for approval You were always troubled Ambition your curse Accumulation your disease Blessed with much but never enough You can't resist gluttony Would you crush a baby's head under your heel If the body was worth more than Its cries? We always believed you would find your way That you would see People are more important than profit That your King of the hill mentality Dog eat dog philosophy and Trickle-not-so-down economics Are counter-productive But your heart was stunted by profit-motive Your eyes blinded by spreadsheets Your need for this damn wall Only grew stronger as it grew larger We gather here—now Along your wall On the street To remind you We are not blips on a computer screen We are real, tangible, With lives and Families, don’t you see Despite the wall We are one We beat against this wall—now With cardboard signs We march around your wall—now Like Joshua Around the walls of Jericho And we will yell, scream, beat drums, chant, gather, sing, debate Until this wall come tumbling down Until you see Until you see Unobstructed. | 
Drawing by Lawrence Dinkins, Jr. |
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BOX OF BROWN
By Lawrence Dinkins, Jr. Trapped in our box in our world on our block we feel so safe in our little box With walls of brown all we do is stand around we have discussions on how we can make our box more brown Our clothes are brown our local mime acts like he's trapped in a box; what a clown! How does he fold himself up like that, on the ground? We talk about the news of the little girl that drowned in Brown Lake downtown One time we had someone paint a mural but we all frowned we stoned him to death because the paint was off brown We sing songs of Saint Augustine Brown for it was he who found and named our safe little town "Box Of Brown" I LAY IT DOWN By Lawrence Dinkins, Jr. I lay the day to rest I lay it down Like an elderly man on his deathbed coming to unexpected end I lay the day to rest I lay it down Cradled in my arms, slowly, gingerly Crouching over the bed of day's end I lay it painfully down Thoughts of to-do's, undone Wishes, ungranted Needs, unmet And wants, unfulfilled I lay it down  |
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