The Panther and the Lash by Langston Hughes Page B

load.
          
Or does it explode?
DEATH IN YORKVILLE
    (Jamas Powell, Summer, 1964)
    How many bullets does it take
    To kill a fifteen-year-old kid?
    How many bullets does it take
    To kill me?
    How many centuries does it take
    To bind my mind—chain my feet—
    Rope my neck—lynch me—
    Unfree?
    From the slave chain to the lynch rope
    To the bullets of Yorkville,
    Jamestown, 1619 to 1963:
    Emancipation Centennial—
    100 years NOT free.
    Civil War Centennial: 1965.
    How many Centennials does it take
    To kill me,
    Still alive?
    When the long hot summers come
    Death ain’t
    No jive.
WHO BUT THE LORD?
    I looked and I saw
    That man they call the Law.
    He was coming
    Down the street at me!
    I had visions in my head
    Of being laid out cold and dead,
    Or else murdered
    By the third degree.
    I said, O, Lord,
if you can
,
    Save me from that man!
    Don’t let him make a pulp out of me!
    But the Lord he was not quick.
    The Law raised up his stick
    And beat the living hell
    Out of me!
    Now I do not understand
    Why God don’t protect a man
    From police brutality.
    Being poor and black,
    I’ve no weapon to strike back
    So who but the Lord
    Can protect me?
          We’ll see.
THIRD DEGREE
    Hit me! Jab me!
    Make me say I did it.
    Blood on my sport shirt
    And my tan suede shoes.
    Faces
like jack-o’-lanterns
    In gray slouch hats
.
    Slug me! Beat me!
    Scream jumps out
    Like blowtorch.
    Three kicks between the legs
    That kill the kids
    I’d make tomorrow.
    Bars and floor skyrocket
    And burst like Roman candles
.
    When you throw
    Cold water on me,
    I’ll sign the
    Paper…
BLACK PANTHER
    Pushed into the corner
    Of the hobnailed boot,
    Pushed into the corner of the
    “l-don’t-want-to-die” cry,
    Pushed into the corner of
    “I don’t want to study war no more,”
    Changed into “Eye for eye,”
    The Panther in his desperate boldness
    Wears no disguise,
    Motivated by the truest
    Of the oldest
    Lies.
FINAL CALL
    SEND FOR THE PIED PIPER AND LET HIM PIPE THE RATS
                             AWAY.
    SEND FOR ROBIN HOOD TO CLINCH THE ANTI-POVERTY
                             CAMPAIGN.
    SEND FOR THE FAIRY QUEEN WITH A WAVE OF THE
                             WAND
    TO MAKE US ALL INTO PRINCES AND PRINCESSES.
    SEND FOR KING ARTHUR TO BRING THE HOLY GRAIL.
    SEND FOR OLD MAN MOSES TO LAY DOWN THE LAW.
    SEND FOR JESUS TO PREACH THE SERMON ON THE
                             MOUNT.
    SEND FOR DREYFUS TO CRY,
“J’ACCUSE!”
    SEND FOR DEAD BLIND LEMON TO SING THE
B FLAT
                             
BLUES
.
    SEND FOR ROBESPIERRE TO SCREAM,
“ÇA IRA! ÇA IRA!
                             
ÇA IRA!”
    SEND (GOD FORBID—HE’S NOT DEAD LONG ENOUGH!)
    FOR LUMUMBA TO CRY “FREEDOM NOW!”
    SEND FOR LAFAYETTE AND TELL HIM, “HELP! HELP ME!”
    SEND FOR DENMARK VESEY CRYING, “FREE!”
    FOR CINQUE SAYING, “RUN A NEW FLAG UP THE MAST.”
    FOR OLD JOHN BROWN WHO KNEW SLAVERY COULDN’T
                             LAST.
    SEND FOR LENIN! (DON’T YOU DARE!—HE CAN’T COME
                             HERE!)
    SEND FOR TROTSKY! (WHAT? DON’T CONFUSE THE ISSUE,
                             PLEASE!)
    SEND FOR UNCLE TOM ON HIS MIGHTY KNEES.
    SEND FOR LINCOLN, SEND FOR GRANT.
    SEND FOR FREDERICK DOUGLASS, GARRISON, BEECHER,
                             LOWELL.
    SEND FOR HARRIETT TUBMAN, OLD SOJOURNER TRUTH.
    SEND FOR MARCUS GARVEY (WHAT?) SUFI (WHO?)
                             FATHER DIVINE (WHERE?)
    DUBOIS (WHEN?)