Lucille
never cool enough porch
the Delta night pressed close
guitar
moving cross field singing
boss coming, boss coming
has a whip
echo down the line
groan of bag dragging
growing
pick it up, pick
up
pick
cross color line
don't cross that line
boy
don't cross that line
dont cross that line
What line? Where?
there is no line
(never was no line)
just chains and whips and rope
no line
no coloreds
no line never was no line
just rope
boy
do you hear me? can't you read?
no coloreds
all behind?
under tin roof juke joint
Senate dome
put it all behind? hope, now hope
pick hope
pick Lucille
black past, line gone
going, groaning, growing
hope, not cotton
pick hope
but not without blues guitar
echo in the air picking cotton
Chicago?
pick hope
for even here in the northland
we are sons of the Delta
and Lucille
~~ Phil Specht
Jan 13, 2009 1:42 AM
2 comments:
Best political poem I've read since I don't know when. It should be read, or sung, at the inauguration.
Wonderfully written! Every word and line continues drawing a picture in motion.
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