words for sale
told me
words come through you they’re a gift you’re a wordsmith a poet a griot what did they cost you fifteen minutes on a pc a pad of legal paper a missed vacation a trip to fantasyland what did they cost you as you caught them floating by as you pulled them from thick misty air as you claimed their capture and signed your name to a bottom line you allege was sent through you from someone somewhere else did they move you or did you move them were they honest or a fascination with a rhyme dictionary were they useful to the plot or taking up space in wasted borders did they matter in the lives of the innocent did they change the course of events did they tell you she wouldn’t have another baby out of wedlock did they stop aids from traveling to the thirteen year old baby girl on the bus crying her heart into her hands did they matter to the thirteen year old baby boy who got aids and won’t know aids got him till he’s nearly dead the baby boy who’s inoculating the “fast” girls in the subdivision with his love girls go to doctors girls have periods boys have question marks told me poems come through you told me you’re a griot teller of tales keeper of flames torchbearer of truth poems come through you through murky visions crystal dreams polluted acts drummers’ beats mystical you say told me you’re sent to share yet words for sale while thirteen year old babies don’t have ten dollars to buy their freedom no mama to tell them no daddy to love them only hope of griot sharing message griot’s supposed to share ten dollars for the words tell baby where to find love hold baby with the words caress baby with the words |
now
you tell baby why they got aids? all they needed was the message that came through you didn’t have ten dollars aids passed through baby girl became her message shared with her baby that’s right she got pregnant too didn’t have ten dollars aids didn’t charge admission tv ads stopped running when gay white men got the word when gay white men spent ten dollars when gay white men got it under control tv ads disappeared below radar, submarine depth wasn’t no conspiracy was what it was when gay white men got it under control wasn’t no racial agenda wasn’t no liberal attack wasn’t no revolution was what it was when gay white men got it under control wasn’t no declaration on apartheid wasn’t no mass genocidal scheme wasn’t no attack on Africa was what it was when gay white men got it under control literature circulated to the literati beneath horizons under movements away from the streets where thirteen year old black children don’t go where thirteen year old black children don’t hear where thirteen year old black children don’t party where thirteen year old black children become hosts where were you griot with those words those magic words sent through you words meant for their target words to save thirteen year old babies did they find their way to radio waves tv waves microwaves wi-fi waves did they find their way to thirteen year old baby girls to thirteen year old baby boys in search of love in search of being held in search of being saved did they find their way to their target where were you griot trying to sell those words to a publisher trying to sell those words to the fortunate trying to sell those words to the few trying to sell those words that only charged you with distribution rights where were you griot with those words born in freedom intended to be free at a poetry fest in search of recognition in search of press in search of accolades in search of ten dollars baby girl got aids baby girl’s baby got aids baby boy died from aids ten dollars griot or was it twelve Copyright © 2004 by F. Geoffrey Johnson All rights reserved First published in Restoration, a collection of poetry and prose, 2005 |
