Sonnet III - Karac Medley

Full lips do sing the songs of my people,

With eyes, trinkets, that sparkle in the night,

And our gospel will flow throughout th’steeple,

A song of our fury, song of our fight.

We see candy red suits and cadillacs,

Both drive highways and the dirt roads now lost,

Though some, they say, that a poet won’t crack,

We remember price tags, forget the cost.

Just need a washboard. Jug, maybe a heart,

And too the fiddle will play Cyrus out,

I can see it coming, this is my part,

Orchestral elegy, but then I shout.

A melody carries, little remains,

So they tell us “those jus’ the growing pains.”

Written from “Monument to the Minds of Little Negro Steelworkers”

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