Unholy Africa

Unholy Africa


The molasses streets
exuded humanity in its
pre-colonial rosewater week-distant bathing
where various painted pots, inlaid by childish stick
etched relieves
served the toilet of all men.

Justice moved swift, like a
mosquito de-ambered by acidic solvents,
through the uproar of the crowd--
where pennies in short supply
were valued at the fruit helmets
of Caribbean women.

Here the encircled, emaciated
half starved native,
for hands not quick to grab the apple,
could not own a piece of the prized headwear
that cruiseships once embedded upon sleek ebony
bodies who shook wide hips to terse drums.

Emaciated pot bellied un-pig children
full on starvation and dry mouths
traded innocence for curiosity
at market prices
among the pride of the motherland.

The native could not fathom circled shouting
sweating, rage,
stood dumb and dim eyed,
encased in four tread-less Goodyear tires
and beat with sticks.
High plumes of heavy smoke
scented rubber, bacon, flesh and gasoline
seemed to carry the
screams and supplications
heaven bound....

And justice melted before my eyes in unholy Africa.