Strange Fruit, post Ferguson (a poem)

Adapted from the Billie Holiday song to fit modern events…

American towns bear a strange fruit
Blood on the eaves and blood from pursuit
Black bodies still in the afternoon breeze
Strange fruit lying on the ground indeed

An urban scene or rural house
The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth
The scent of gunfire bitter and fresh
Then the sudden smell of fear and death

There is a fruit for the crows to pluck
For the rain to gather, for the wind to suck
For the sun to rot, for The Man to drop
Here is a strange and bitter crop

The more things change, the more they stay the same…

1 Comment

Filed under Race

One response to “Strange Fruit, post Ferguson (a poem)

  1. Pingback: And we are still two nations | The Cosmogonic Grunt

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