Poetry

1. PAPA


My
father was a spiritual man;


well
worn spiritual shoes soled with Psalms and Revelations,


He
spoke with the voice of Leviticus.



The
Bible, his umbrella,


Protection
from Satan’s reign.


He
went, door to door,


Late
nights on London’s granite streets.


He
came home,


head
bashed and bleeding,


Jesus
in an ill-fitting suit;


Set
upon by wolves and romans who saw


Only
that his skin, khaki brown,


Was
different, desired to devour him.


“Go
back to Asia” words soldered to bats and fists.


All
he could reply, before one tooth let fly,


“Lord,
Lord, me Jamaican, man”


The blows became a flood.