The Sound of Burning Hair

Osage Avenue,

Philadelphia, 1985

Dropping a bomb

is not the same

As throwing it

One can be

A nervous mistake

The other a dead intention

So they knew when they leaned

Their ticking arms

Out their flying doors

That bullets would never be enough

That bullets could tear

And nightsticks

Could render unconsciousness

But what would debone

Tough dark meat

From nimble arrogant quick healing joints

They knew when they threw it down

That bullets might slice a path.

Through some unruly moppy untamed heads

But what would singe it off

Beyond skin and scalp

Under hairshafts and past regeneration

Fire would

Fire could

So by all means

Let us throw fire

So a jacklegged flame was sent

To do a human being’s job

And then they inhaled

Like the humpbacks they are

And dove their regulation

Three thousand feet for cover

Leaving only fire

To lick away

Every thick haired spirit

Within a three mile radius

Lives have been torched

In a back alley murder

And strangers doing head counts

Have trampled through our homes

Without first wiping their unsorry souls

Philadelphia

Is not Hirsoshima

But hair on fire

Echoes the same

And straight or nappy minds

Can lift their ears

To any burning bush

And hear rats crawling away

Though fire is out

Though smoke has cleared

Though bullet embroidered backs are buried now

It is all ways ours to decide

What shall we read to the children tonight

Can we pull it from ourselves

Do we still

See Jane

Can we still say aloud in sacred bedtime story voice

That Dick still shoots a silver toy pistol

Does Spot still run monarch butterflies

Or do we see him

Chasing our Birdie instead

Trespass running

Up our Black wooly headed alley

Can we see Birdie

See Birdie run

See Ramona

Screaming for Birdie to keep running

Screaming for John to make it to Afrika

Scream Ramona

Your hair

Is Fire

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