georgia cry(for Troy Davis)

washes its face once again
with innocent blood
mealy-mouthed Confederate nostalgia
tells justice
‘stop squirming
we can make the laws that bind your wrists
tighter than the blindfold on your eyes’
i can’t imagine
waiting for death
to step before you
and ask you to come quietly
the Good Book in one hand and a syringe in the other
and maybe death itself
might pause and ask ‘what is wrong here?’

becomes less sweeter
no amount of Paula Deen pecan pies
will remove this taste
after the powers that be
remove him from this world
this lingering bitterness
modern day strange fruit brings by governor’s writ
and racism’s irrigation
let us not greet the morning after
with complaints about work commutes and
miscues on a baseball diamond
when this shows that they can take any Black mother’s jewel
and deliver it to dust

and the world
weeps like those willow trees one might find
on Savannah lanes
but your blood, Troy
will remain the scarlet stain on prison board lapels
politician’s records
and perhaps one day
we will replace these words
with choice bullets, war cries and fists
may our protests and our anger
be louder than their imperious glee
as they steal
the last breath from your lips.