Catch Some Wide Eye

The Fruits of American Humanitarian Aide to “Africa”

slender girl
of waking age
in transcendent times
and unforgiving space
comes to this place
of silent refuge
or so they say
where the halls of learning
tip down their hands
and take her cheeks
in pale, gripping fingers.
blessed child, you are mine.

so the dream of this
foreign born white-black
woman of wealth and fame
has become brick and stone
all around her, dream child.
run. they clutch her in places
that shiver cold and still-
naked to the shame
of military drill. no! run,
girl, run from the dream
now nightmare! the white-black
woman with tears in her eyes
crying for her young Africa!
blessed chil’, ju are mine.

the stories spread
they look at you
shame, anger, injustice,
this spinning hall of fame
boring holes in your neurons
forever yours. they shall
scream, touch, scrape,
never hold you gently
again. you vicious,
undeserving, poppet.
to not give the devil
her due. she needed you
with thrills unspoken, damaged,
banished. you were her taboo heart.
cruelty worse than death!
bastard chil’, ju are MINE!

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