By rigor mortis.

And holding up your hands to calm us people

You say: ‘This was not a racial attack.’

I can see the wipe marks

On his forehead,

Where with the side of your fist

You tried to wipe them in

Smudge them in

Reshape them

Rub them in

Distort them

Change them

Hide them

Rearrange them

With ink that dried

Before he died.

You report: ‘We understand the victim was Black.

This was not a racial attack.’

Occupations

Occupations

I don’t need an occupation

To get picked up on the street.

I don’t need an occupation

To be the victim of deceit.

I don’t need an occupation

To get my pockets searched.

I don’t need an occupation

To get kicked where it hurts.

I don’t need an occupation

For basic rights to be taken away.

I don’t need an occupation

To visit the cells for a day.

I don’t need an occupation

To be living underneath.

I don’t need an occupation

To feel a boot within my teeth.

I don’t need an occupation

To be pestered constantly.

I don’t need an occupation

To be hounded by the beast.

They are getting paid

When they’re harassing me,

When they’re writing out

False confessions of a robbery.

And in the cells I felt a rhyme

Riddle with a rhythm inside of me.

If the judgement fits the crime,

Get them when they’re off duty.

Boiling Up

Boiling Up

Can you spread me lightly on this street?

I would like to blend in.

If butter and bread can do it, so can I.

Will you sprinkle me softly in this hotel?

I would like to blend in.

If chicken and seasoning can do it, so can I.

(The store detective is either trying to

strike up some kind of meaningful relationship with me,

or I’ve got a box of jelly babies stuck to my left ear.)

Could you drip me into this club?

I would like to blend in.

If coffee and milk can do it, so can I.

(It’s not a sawn-off shotgun in my inside pocket,

and that’s not because I keep my machete there –

ten Regal King Size, please.)

Can you grate me into this city?

I would like to blend in.

If cheese and tomatoes can do it, so can I.

Can you soak me into this country?

I would like to blend in.

If rice and peas can do it, so can I.

Instant Consciousness

Instant Consciousness

Instant consciousness comes in the pound,

Pay at the town hall and spread it around.

Love it or hate it, who are we to debate it?

We’re so glad you’ve got it and daren’t underrate it.

Because now you can serve us with the new vision,

Teach all us blacks about multiculturalism,

Then propose that if we don’t listen to you