That’s what it is now.
A chase.

Every day
begins with questions:

how soon before
they catch us,
how soon before
we break away
and get to safety
on the high ground?

They don’t understand
that in fact, we’re ahead.
That we’re far enough ahead
that their old dodges
to snare us into loss — 

their dogs
and dog whistles,
their chains
and the chains of etiquette, 
their ropes
and their bad rope-a-dope,
their bullets 
those miles of policy strung out on
hollow point PowerPoints,

aren’t cutting it
any more.

can’t catch up so
keep running like
we’ll get tired
before we win. Like
we’re behind them and

we’re not.

We will win.  We
haven’t got a choice,
really. Safety’s
ahead, not behind.

How soon before they catch us?
That’s not the right question: try, 

how soon before we turn
to meet them? How soon before
we catch them with these
very hands? What then?


About Tony Brown

A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown

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