CALL ME BELOVED

I sit in an office chair, mired in first world problems
while many hundreds of miles away an armored transport
strikes a protester on Egyptian streets.
I watch from behind a screen. my hand snaps over my mouth
as the wheels swerve toward him (silent video but I feel the thud)
and more poignant – the man put himself in the way.
no phone no internet as they attempt to douse
dissatisfaction by blanketing a country in silence,
yet voices grow louder and men step in front of
panic-driven steel, in the name of equity, of the many.

familiar thoughts come to mind, if I was in a cafe
as the crowds rushed by sounding a call to arms,
would I get swept up in the patrotic cry,
kick tear gas back into phalanxes of riot shields –
could I plant myself in between the line
and the armored car – what else besides
the inevitable choke of panic would occupy
the private corners of my heart as the tires
screeched closer? for freedom, or enough is enough,
what satisfaction would take away the sting
of broken ribs and dislocations, lying
next to oil slicks and choking
on burning rubber thick in the air,
what feeling would take the pain away?

this is what we do to each other, the unspeakable
pride and ego that so easily lets one place another
under foot to protect ephemeral gains.
this is our humanity, splayed out on the street
and bleeding from the inside – shot by riot guns –
cradled in someones arms while voices fill the air,
crying out dignity, dignity – if not freedom
then dignity.