Diary

It was a rally at the rain-soaked Southwest dorms

and I hope you had your fun—

I was standing there with all the rest

and grinning when the riot had begun.

Soon the broken glass would be laid

on the ground with the blood and blades

and pots banging up and down in the raid.

And when the megaphone man rang out

the ZooMass crowd with signs in hand

sang out in a loud reciprocal shout

so riled to march and kicking up sand,

and with spirits high they chanted odes,

clenched fists, and broke the codes

so outwardly that day upon those old main roads.

And the police arrived in cruisers blue

just trying to quiet the crowd

while firing off shots to shake the dew

with handguns and great gas clouds,

and as the pepper spray was rained

on the missionaries in the lane

they all fell down destroyed in one big chain.

And as the signs around began to drop

those living there threw down cans

from their top floor windows 

to where my group surrendered to the man.

And I saw teargas-stained tears form

in the speech maker’s eyes born now

with the anger of the students in the dorm.

And as blood spattered at the cement

the live ones battered up rocks

and broke them on the pavement

and stuffed the pieces into socks

and made themselves a David sling

and hurled them at the officers' ring

'round the students flying now on broken wings.

Then men in uniform brought their sticks

but lost them in the brawling grind

and came around to give their kicks

to wake the sleeping protesters behind

the terror of the club and gave

us into the courtyards of the slave

where we would live with defaced graves.

So I’m carrying this sign ‘til the riots decline,

‘til the preaching has left me taught,

‘til the war inside was won—I fought.

So I’m sending you my regards from

the front lines while it’s fun.

NEXT

--Porter Daryl's Poems