by Joan Dobbie
copyright 2009

My friend
is a black man
tall, charming, talented

& filled to the brim
with a seething volcano
of agony, hatred, terror
& rage strong enough
to cover the earth
three times over
with magma
of sorrow

Molten metal of
old prison bars, centuries
of slave chains, ever fresh
scars of daily humiliation. He
stops bleeding
His kingly black
race, he tells me,
held down world wide for
centuries under the
spiked colonial boot
of that monstrous lie
White Supremacy
has to stop pleading
for love & acceptance–

Enough of that evil old
game–you know the one–
where white always opens
& white always wins
He will never play chess

Our mutual friends, those
who are white, comment about
how cheerful & friendly he is,
so happy-go-lucky… always that

He’s got to be thrilled
they say, one, then another,
sporting their fashionable “O’s”
Obama! he rages. They give us
Obama! We never pick him.
Obama! He spits out the word
like a curse

Why not a Garvey? A Douglas?
a King? Why not Rev. Farrakhan?

Obama’s a puppet.
Little black puppet
on pink nylon
string. White Nation’s
house nigger. Master’s new pet

Obama is the opiate of the people
–the one lucky crab
that got out of the barrel–
Fact is, master took him out

You watch:
Master’s gonna cook him

Categories: Uncategorized


4 replies

  1. Hi Erik,

    I think Joan gets away with expressing all that rage of her boyfriend’s since they have been together a very long time.

    Yes, Obama is a complex guy. Easy to like — but in my opinion very tricky with a big tendency to obfuscate so people think the best of him while he meanwhile does his backroom deals. Typical Chicago politics you could say.

    My brother Russell says its not fair that we know so much of what goes on in politics these days which makes people like me too judgmental. Obama has been dealt a difficult deck due to the lockstep opposition of the Republicans. All true of course.



  2. I like ” agony, hatred, terror/ & rage strong enough/ to cover the earth/ three times over/ with magma/ of sorrow.” The rest of the poem proceeds to cover. Can white people say what Joan is saying? Is it okay? Does she get it? I think she gets it. And I still like Obama.

    Wait, I feel a POEM coming on:

    I can’t wait
    for the day when my spell checker
    stops underlining Obama.
    I want it to figure it out
    for itself.


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