The Policeman’s Club Descends

By Bob Boldt

With each blow the black crucifixion arises anew.

“You got to move”
blues echo down Wall Street.

Follow the long chain of slaves who traded in

cotton for the automobile assembly.

While pharaoh keeps killing black leaders

with all the brutal indifference
of a wheat harvester’s scythe.

Black blood has fertilized a reincarnation

the powerful will never understand.

I perform a ceremony of intention
that finds the Orisha in full descent
over the land of the free
Sing praise to Elegua (Elegua!) and all the gods of Africa.

They’ve finally had enough.

These gods have their own chosen people:
This rainbow collection kneeling in the street,
kneeling to move the world.

Copyright © 2020 by Bob Boldt