The black men of my city
used to walk the dawn streets
in constant anger.
They did not fear
the nighttime men in pale sheets,
but wilted under the slow sneer,
bad joke, nervous glance,
but all that changed
when democratic death collected,
regardless of race, creed, color.
turn the page
words: Gary Beck, New York
image: Peter Schwarz, Maine (Sitrah Ahra)