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Fighting For America: A Gwendolin Brooks Enjambment Poem
Fighting for America, we
don’t know why. But it’s real.
We watch the destruction and the Earth won't cool.
Bombing Japan, we
Abandoned civility, left
Humanity. Nothing like we were taught in school.
Arresting black kids, we
spot them as they lurk.
Bystanders plea asking the cop to stop, often too late.
The children are crying, yet we
don’t stop, the only way to break up a riot is to strike,
back, until they can’t see straight.
Weeping mothers visit their kids for reasons we
don't understand. So we sing,
though it may be a sin
it distracts us from what we
want to forget, but the distraction is thin.
No more comfort than a bottle of gin.
Drinking like a camel finding an oasis for relief till we
can’t do nothing but listen to jazz
as those final days of June
pass and the sun set, we
realize, no matter how we try, we die.
And we die soon.
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This poem uses the words from Seven at the Golden Shovel by Gwendolin Brooks as the last word for each line.