Unhoused sisters and brothers, Civilian
Casualty-Collateral Damage,
Ol’ Schmo’s sounding Sam and Dave-ish—
“Hold on, I’m comin’…
Hold on, I’m comin’…”
from high alert into harm’s way of your sidewalk
sleeper cells—your encampments, tarps and tents
sprung up like multi-colored mini-mushroom clouds
Unhoused sisters and brothers, Civilian
Casualty-Collateral Damage,
Ol’ Schmo’s sounding Sam and Dave-ish—
“Hold on, I’m comin’…
Hold on, I’m comin’…” from high alert to coordinates
of borders between Berkeley and Oakland where you’re
Amassed.
He’s comin' boots on the ground—Special Forces—brave
fighting men and women platoon/battalion, heavily-armed— Amish-style—ready to raise roofs and grow food…
Capitalism’s putative leader knows the Golden State’s home to half his nation’s unhoused. And he’s hopping mad—R2P: Responsibility To Protect—humanitarian intervention—MAD! “What lousy dictator would do this to his own people?!” “Own people!” he mumbles “Will gas be next?!” “Gas?!” he babbles…
Unhoused sisters and brothers, Civilian
Casualty-Collateral Damage,
Ol’ Schmo’s sounding Sam and Dave-ish—
“Hold on, I’m comin’…
Hold on, I’m comin’…” from high alert, deploying good guys with nail-guns, hammers, saws, 2x4s, rebar, bricks and concrete— Weapons of Mass Construction—Build Back Better ain’t bosh! He’s comin’ ‘cause housing’s a human right;
Comin’ to get bogged down in Structural Adjustments;
Comin’ Slick Willy-ish: “I feel your pain—it’s the economy stupid!” Comin’ Drone Ranger-ish: with spare “Change you can believe in…” If your eyes well up when handed your keys it’s OK; OK if you burst into tears during your first shower in two years; OK to wake up in your warm laundry-fresh bed babbling: “Support the troops!” “Support the troops!”
It’s OK to let good guys with Weapons of Mass Construction board planes before babysitters, teachers, midwifes, nurses, doctors and dentists as you chant, “Thank you for your service” over and over…
Unhoused sisters and brothers, Civilian
Casualty-Collateral Damage—
Spoiler alert:
Ol’ Schmo’s changing his tune. He’s saying he
Tolt you from da git—from da jump: “Nothing
would fundamentally change…He’s saying he
has a right to sing the Blues— a right to try to
sound more and more like Lady Day each day:
“Hush now, don’t explain…
money waits in Ukraine…”
© 2022. Raymond Nat Turner, The Town Crier. All Rights Reserved.
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This week’s featured author is Nanjala Nyabola. Nyabola is a writer and political analyst based in Nairobi, Kenya.
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