Black On The Boulevard Poem by Clifton King

A serpentine line of bodies
stretches along the boulevard.
People standing shoulder to shoulder
in the rain,
in their convictions,
in a vigil for peace.

Their attire predominantly black,
the color of death
and mourning.
Someone has to wear black
until every single soldier comes back.

If only it were that simple.

There are no posters,
no chants of, Hell no, we won’t go.
This isn’t Berkeley in ’65,
Chicago in ’68,
and this isn’t Kent State.
It’s President’s Day,2014.

My God, we haven’t learned a thing.