of: National City, CA

we used to stay up watching the moon
rise over thirty thousand rooftops
in a bustling mini-Manila in the middle of a
tyrant tourism town
on the edge of the California coast
meeting the Pacific Ocean, specific motions
would then leave us dry heaving
never leaving the poor poverty
prejudice, we were buried
brown beneath, the dark damp dirt
maggots made to murder
forced to feed upon the filth
we were born into, sworn into
greencards, green bards
after Whitman, after Poe
knowing nothing at all
but the cold crazy cavalier
mouth of a monster
never full, always cruel
ate away at the flesh of
fresh faces that were lied to
bribed to
give us your hungry
give us your old
give us your weak
for
discount wages
fill the pages
do you fit the qualifications?
demonstrations
demon nation
obituaries in English you can't understand
not your language
speak our language
Brown boy, come - give me a hand
&
welcome
to the Promised Land

“speak louder” - originally published online by Evocations Review, 2020