Poems from the crucible*, pt. 1

I read an African proverb
that a child not embraced
by its village will burn that village down
to feel its warmth.

The mayor lifted the curfew
to appease the rioters – but God
in his wisdom sent a thunderstorm
that made them scurry like cockroaches
when the lights come on.

Another storm is brewing.

If a monument is a lightning rod
and a lightning bolt hits the tip top
does free electricity go into the ground?

Some say abolish the police –
But then who’s Karen gonna call?

Some of us are awake and
Some of us remember you.
So if you wanna tip-toe back here
Don’t come half-stepping – You’d
Better bring your best game.

* A crucible is a ceramic or metal container in which metals or other substances may be melted or subjected to very high temperatures. While crucibles historically were usually made from clay, they can be made from any material that withstands temperatures high enough to melt or otherwise alter its contents.

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