Contributor: Dee Allen

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Getting the head
Shorn with a blade,
Hairless to the touch
And smooth, was how
Kenyan and Tanzanian
Maasai men historically
Prepared for battle
Against approaching hostile
Nearby tribes. Nowadays,
Maasai women strip
Themselves of wooly hair
For cleanliness and
Drawing the straying
Male eye on her.
As an African man

In America, applying
A good razor
To my stubbly
Scalp, lathered in
Thick white cream,
Backward and forward
Before the bathroom mirror
Over a face-bowl

Keeps the creeping
Ravages of grey
From settling in
All too soon--

My face,
All sharp corners
And high cheek-bones,
Receives the same treatment.

My ritual
Wards off age
For the time being.
Youth and
Cleanliness maintained with razor strokes.

This is me
In warrior mode
Preparing for battle
Against encroaching hostile
Western society.
_____________
W: 8.16.18
- - -
African. Italian. Poet.

Contributor: Dee Allen

- -
My soul remembers

The rejection
From public life
My ancestors
Must've felt
In the distant past,
The bug-a-boo status
They've known
And the new
Incoming migrants
Border patrol or none
Border wall or none
Know now--

Back then, all

Laundries, dry cleaners, nightclubs, hotels,
Bars, restaurants, hospitals, clinics, schools,
Libraries, grocery stores, clothing shops, homes,
Bank loans, jobs, barbers, boneyards

Were open and available for everyone's use.

Unless you were Black.
___________________
W: 6.29.18

- - -
African. Italian. Poet.

Contributor: Dee Allen

- -
Black lives
Don't matter
To the C.O.
Walking the cell-block.

Black lives
Matter less
To the salty
Beat-cop patrolling the 'hood, squadcar on prowl.

Black lives
Don't matter
To the vigilante
Bigot gone hunting for heads darker than his.

Black lives
Matter less
To sharp steel
Unprovoked

Insane wrath thrust
Into young
Necks on
A subway train platform.

One female left wounded. Her sister
Never saw past 18.

MacArthur B.A.R.T.
Past sundown:
Gleaming candles, flowers & photos,
Altar formed over concrete.
People, victim's family gathered
Among blaring Hip-Hop tracks
And wall projections of little

Light-skinned Nia
In happier times, the
Look of another adolescent
In love
With life

Demanded a justice for her
None of them knew.

Protect your necks.
Protect each other,
Little sisters
And brothers.
___________
W: 7.24.18
[ For Nia Wilson--2000-2018. ]

- - -
African. Italian. Poet.

Contributor: Dee Allen

- -
Reddish-brown
Corrosion covers
The whole goddamn structure
Like a filthy blanket.
With so much widespread
Decay, this old
Tarnished bridge should have
Collapsed from crashing waters
Many floods ago.
By some fluke of nature,
Unscathed by time, it still
Stands over the muddy
Chickasawhay River in
Shubuta, Mississippi.

Once a passageway to a long
Forgotten Clarke County destination,
Twice an implement
Of execution
Like an iron crucifix.

THIS IS YOU
Skull and crossbones

Etched on the bridge's base
Cryptic warning
Meant for anyone
Unlucky enough to cross it
And the invisible line
Away from "their place".

Between both world wars,
Unspecified parties--
Let's re-phrase that--
Haters strung up
Four boys,
Two girls
Both pregnant,
Young, Negro and
Guilty of nothing
Hung from knotted ropes
Tight around necks
Tied to rusty girders
Over the coursing river
Like six
Black flags
Sailing in
The gentle
Southern wind.
____________
W: 8.17.18
[ Inspired by the book "Hanging Bridge" by Jason Morgan Ward.


- - -
African. Italian. Poet.