LAND OF THE PHARAOHS

the pharaoh "narmer" from a photo by keith shengili-roberts

LAND OF THE PHARAOHS

by Jefferson Carter

I like being called “brother”

by black men.  I like walking past

Land of the Pharaohs

& being invited in by the brothers

to bless them with a poem.

“Brothers,” I say, “brothers,

please, no keyboards, no congas,

let me lay something white & uptight

on you brothers.”  I recite my poem

about Martians & Geiger counters,

its conclusion an ironic invitation

to Jesus to drop by some morning

for coffee.  They hate it.

The brothers hate it

but they’re polite, not like Kerouac

at the Living Theater,

heckling Frank O’Hara

or the Academy Awards audience

mocking poor Sally Fields

when she said “You

like me!  You really do

like me!”  The brothers forgive me

as they’d forgive a flying nun

who alighted among them

& roosted, preening, while a brother

recited his hip-hop poem called

“Kill the Honky Muthafuckers.”

~ previously published in Get Serious

THE ORAL TRADITION

artwork: ralph murre

THE ORAL TRADITION

 by Jefferson Carter                         

                                                                                                   

Sometimes, in conversation,

he’ll look away & say

I don’t want to talk about it.               

I respect that.  I really do

but like some nosy Homeric hero

I can feel the words piling up

behind my teeth’s barrier:

tell me, godammit!  Tell me

everything so we can be friends!                 

I like to imagine the real        

oral tradition, the lost passages

of The Iliad, those Myrmidons                                                          

all sitting around their cook fires,

gossiping, trading recipes, even

consoling one another as they

mend the horsehair plumes,

the helmets heavy in their laps.

~ previously published in Get Serious (Chax Press)