Holler from a Hungry Belly (a poem)

A jagged moon is cracked and

people gather on the hill –

white teens in Metallica shirts

and a Mustang in the dusty field.

They want dirt and blood.

A pale-faced crowd forms an imperfect circle,

tall shadows shaped in columns –

the first punch makes them twitch like a feline.

This is what they wanted, right?

Dust kicks up, sticks in alcohol-drenched mouths –

black and white teens claw at each other –

bleeding lips and blackened eyes.

How do they do it in other countries?

Everywhere there are tribes:

skin tone, caste, religion – wherever you can

draw the devil’s line with innocent blood.

Flashing police lights scatter the mob –

howl at the moon and holler from a hungry belly

here in suburban America,

but it could be anywhere.

(Photo by Aarón Blanco Tejedor on Unsplash)

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