Riot Act

Reads: 471  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 3

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Reddit
  • Pinterest
  • Invite

Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Just a political poem that I wrote a few years ago. "An act to provide for calling forth the Militia to execute the laws of the Union, suppress insurrections and repel invasions"

Riot Act

I'm going out and getting something.
I don't know what.
I don't care.
Whatever's out there, I'm going to get it.
Look in those shop windows at boxes
and boxes of Reeboks and Nikes
to make me fly through the air
like Michael Jordan
like Magic.
While I'm up there, I see Spike Lee.
Looks like he's flying too
straight through the glass
that separates me
from the virtual reality
I watch every day on TV.
I know the difference between
what it is and what it isn't.
Just because I can't touch it
doesn't mean it isn't real.
All I have to do is smash the screen,
reach in and take what I want.
Break out of prison.
South Central homey's newly risen
from the night of living dead,
but this time he lives,
he gets to give the zombies
a taste of their own medicine.
Open wide and let me in,
or else I'll set your world on fire,
but you pretend that you don't hear.
You haven't heard the word is coming down
like the hammer of the gun
of this black son, locked out of the big house,
while massa looks out the window and sees only smoke.
Massa doesn't see anything else,
not because he can't,
but because he won't.
He d rather hear me talking about mo' money,
mo' honeys and gold chains
and see me carrying my favorite things
from looted stores
than admit that underneath my Raider's cap,
the aftermath is staring back
unblinking through the camera's lens,
courtesy of CNN,
My arms loaded with boxes of shoes
that I will sell at the swap meet
to make a few cents on the declining dollar.
And if I destroy myself
and my neighborhood
ain't nobody's business, if I do,"
but the police are knocking hard
at my door
and before I can open it,
they break it down
and drag me in the yard.
They take me in to be processed and charged,
to await trial,
while Americans forget
the day the wealth finally trickled down
to the rest of us.


Submitted: June 16, 2008

© Copyright 2022 mike folley. All rights reserved.

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Reddit
  • Pinterest
  • Invite

Add Your Comments:

Comments

ReganFinch

Great job mike! I really felt what you were saying and you done that well. Can't wait till your next one!

Mon, June 16th, 2008 7:15pm

Author
Reply

Thank you. It's a few years old but from when I wrote it but I thought that it was appropriate.

Mon, June 16th, 2008 3:39pm

seesawmae

this is really good, i enjoyed it!

Sat, September 20th, 2008 4:23pm

Author
Reply

Thank you. It's older but still applies.

Sun, September 21st, 2008 8:19am

Facebook Comments

Other Content by mike folley

Short Story / Other

Poem / Romance

Poem / Literary Fiction