A Poem #2

I'm late.


Message for, Perhaps, A God (1929-68)

my boys talk
your name

as if it is
a mathematical equation

doctor plus king
equals
a sweet satisfaction that
comes with
knowing they would prevail
in a fight against a white boy
should a white boy
walk through tompkins projects
on a friday night
pointing out their
blackness

forty years later, a handful of wars
my boys
still don't know
the differences between
birmingham
vietnam and
afghanistan

it's a whole
other story if we're
talking
a knock off swooosh and
the real thing

my loves
have lungs
too weak for the mountaintop