"Garner Verdict Night."
So there's a couple of visual poems in "that's what you get."
And I'm moving towards more visual things
because I'm a slave to this phone.
And yeah, so there's a few of these.
And you know, I'm a slave to all the things, the video things.
Garner verdict night, December 3, 2014,
from Monica Hand, who's gone now.
Great poet.
1.
Meeting the march at 50th and Broadway.
Dropped grading papers
soon as I heard: I had more
to teach by walking.
Marching was mourning.
I felt I knew him, neighbors
from remote ghettos,
like someone I grew
up with, surrounded by white ethnics in the sticks.
His video ghost
told me, there was no question.
I had to be there.
2.
Sit-in at Columbus Circle.
We sat down in a
crosswalk, Christmas lights of the
luxury mall winking.
This couldn't be done
under Bloomberg, he corralled,
blocked, barricaded,
had people believing
they had to ask permission
to protest, to breathe.
Never felt more of this
city than when I took
my place on that road.
I can see better this way.
3.
Between the buses down 9th.
Against traffic, down
wide Manhattan Avenue,
eyes and back of our heads,
many marchers the age of my students.
I fell back to watch them move,
was solo among groups of various sizes,
could observe, weave, join,
break, let one know where
the other was.
If they were
lost, coming apart.
4.
Flag on West Side Highway.
There have been honking
in solidarity on
the previous block.
But here, we waited
a river of cars, the size of
what was gone.
a police wall met
us, shields and helmets,
outfit of control.
Before at our own
river of bodies waved, pulsed,
chanting his last words.