BLACK JESUS

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BLACK JESUS

My prince,               all the flags of the world,

              flew at half mast to honor the death

of your King,

some white weakling 

with a high-powered rifle

shot him in the head,

and it seems that the righteous anger 

                     of centuries is now constructing

                     fire bombs row upon row;

but you need to remember           that together we saluted the fat ones, 

                                     standing shoulder to shoulder in stone stadiums,

                                  naked, 

      clutching our gladius and trident,

combating Thracians and Gauls, 

                                  and savage beasts, 

                                                our sword arms a lethal blur,

                                                our blood the same color;

together 

we waded through

marshes of silt, shackled

with a cold steel chain

at our bleeding ankles,

hearing the devil hounds baying,

fleeing the whip and the rope;

it was in your strong brown arms

that I was held shaking with malaria,

brothers in bondage;

together            we snaked through the hot ferns

                         and elephant grass in jungle darkness,

                         beneath that impenetrable canopy

of the fucking ‘Nam, flashing

                                 silent bayonets, carrying wounded 

                                 buddies on our burly shoulders

                                 to the thropping choppers churning

                         before their dust off, shared women

                   in Da Nang, plucked dog tags

from the fists of death;

now that we are home,

do not turn on me,                  or let me have to follow

                          the dictates of the vicious

                          and ignorant between us;

goddamn it, we are better than that,

more than that, we are not enemies--

on this upcoming day of resurrection,

                          let it be our love that is risen,

                          let us sip from each other’s heart,

                          let us color Christ black,

for the Centurions are still among us,

          building crosses,

          carrying spikes,

          painting our names               on splintered signs,

so in the spirit of all we are

I reach out to you.               Brother,

                             take my hand

                  for together

we can still defeat

                             the fat ones.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted originally in 2012.

Posted today over at d Verse Poets OLN

Even though I have a cold, would you like to hear me read this poem to you?