Dark Prophet Poetry Challenge Day 4: Behind the Door

i

Went down to the crossroads

With banjo in hand

Told my old lady

I’m going to see the man

Dressed in black and red

Cigar dangling in his mouth

A fist full of rum

Stank of that dirty, dirty south

I’ll call him by his true name

Elegbara of the path

If he accepts my chicken

Well now you do the math

Turning in a spiral

Kisses on the neck

Shouts to the heavens

He slips me a blank check

Cause I’m a holy roller

Got the mojo in my pouch

Yes I’m a holy roller

Not trying to be no slouch

Oh I’m a holy roller

Mojo in my pouch

I’m a holy roller

Not trying to be a slouch

ii

Now that the way is open

Broken bones

Everywhere

A death rattle

A baby chokes

An ICE agent turns away

A homeless family

Locked in cordoned white tape

Elegba in rags

Elegba in the soft skin of a babe

Elegba collapsed in ventilators

Elegba

In our sickness of greed

Warrior behind the door

When the streets of Yorubaland

Go silent

And South America bleeds capital

Can you take this offering

And tell our ancestors

We’re sorry

We didn’t mean to squander it all

And if we pour out a libation

Can you tell us the way home again?

ashe