HOW IT IS

HOW IT IS

A wife must be trained
That’s all there is to it.
Especially on Sunday’s
When you value your entertainment.
She may not understand
Your fascination with football
Her face screwed up
Like a contortionist.
She refers to it as sweaty men
In tights who run into each other
And fall down, and forget their
Homophobia of patting their
Teammates butt when something
Goes right. She wants to take
Our children to the Christmas
Parade, and can’t you miss a game?
Yes I can but not this one.
Although your family means everything
The way a rudder is to a boat.
Today the grainy air will be mutual loathing.

Arnal Kennedy

LAND OF DRUMS

LAND OF DRUMS [For Phillis Wheatly]

Stolen from the Land Of Drums
Near the Senegal River
By enemy tribesman
For brightly colored cloth
Trinkets, rum, cowrie shells,
That determines status of a man.

Congo drums thump out the warning
Slave traders have come ashore
And in the rice fields chasing away birds
Dahobar would abduct you, your Mother
And your friend Obour for a debt
Fear swoops over you like a great bird.

African warriors drag the three
Of you through the thick bush
To the ocean’s rhapsody, Dahobar
His teeth gleaming haggles fiercely
Over his commodity like a shop owner
Leaves you with white men and imagination.

Two male captives jump over board
And are eaten by sharks, your memories
Die on the water like a grave
For the unforgiven. Close to America
They throw your Mother into the sea
And this new world will brand you slave.

Arnal Kennedy

ON THE MARGINS

ON THE MARGINS

I stop in the Off Road Restaurant
Seven hours leaving Miami
To sober up from sampling the product.

I order black coffee in a mug
Like the truckers whose big rigs
Are parked in front. I have today’s special
On the menu steak and eggs.

The hefty waitress is all smiles
Pouring extra coffee
Asking questions I make up answers to.

A woman is breast feeding
Towel covering new infant’s head,
Her husband consumed in his breakfast.

I wish for a normal existence
Where jail doesn’t look over my shoulder
For society pushed me to the margins.

Two highway police officers
Sit at the counter,
I nail my greeting like a gymnast.

I merge the u-haul into traffic
Under a low mantled sun
Whispering the fear of skullduggery.

Arnal Kennedy