"Remembering the Reverend Jesse Jackson," "When a friend's father dies," and "The loss of daylight"

Remembering the Reverend Jesse Jackson

 

Southern Democrats became Republicans because

Jackie Robinson stole home. Jesse Jackson eulogized

Jackie, referring to his body as a temple of God.

Some people watched the film Mandingo

 

Without telling their spouses which parts made them

want to go on separate vacations. I was asked once

about my hair, its texture said you must have parents

of different races.

 

It took me a long time to understand how Jackson could

lead a Rainbow Coalition that included people who claimed

liberals trained with Governor Dukakis at the Cirque de Soleil

and were similarly certain the Central Park Five

 

Received a lucrative deal from Death Row Records.

Yet Reverend Jackson reached them like Kendrick Lamar

their feet moved when they caught his rhythm, proof

that a killer crossover slays more than the opposing player.

 


 

When a friend’s father dies

 

Friends’ fathers have been dying for all my lifetime

they pulled dandelions and replaced deck porches

cleaned eaves with gloved hands and cursed the Yankees

 

They drank beer and cheered for Franco Harris

Cal Ripken had choice words for Jane Fonda it was

April 30th, 1975, and the Reds riding into Saigon

 

It was Morning in America and the Ownership Society

the end of the Gold Standard and a Hard Hat Riot

they loved their sons they loved their wives they liked me

 

Too, somehow, because I was respectful and kept my radical

imagination among the tubers in my yard: every month

is the cruelest month when friends fathers have been dying

 

All my life.

 


 

The loss of daylight

 

My street teaches me that when there is

no crown, dandelions double down   

grackles become nightingales

noon sleeping poets choose telephone

poles as pillows.

 

As chicory forms a firmament for

leafhoppers and other keyhole creatures

raccoons pour purloined bottles

of amber between concrete seams:

tourists believe it’s piss.

 

When some local jester lights it on fire

God owes us nothing, for we are

watching the innards of the universe 

streak past our feet; so, rejoice!

 

You pair of kissing cousins

who embrace the loss of daylight.

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Jeremy Nathan Marks

Jeremy Nathan Marks lives in the Great Lakes Region of North America. Recent prose and poetry appears/will appear in Studio One, The Medley, Mobius, Fifty Word Stories, Flash Flood, The Red Fern Review, Right Hand Pointing, New Verse News, Dissident Voice, and 365 Tomorrows among other spots. Jeremy works in adult education. He recommends the Center for Biological Diversity.