Sam Jackson
The moon was a thick slab of yellow cheese between thin slices of toasted clouds
The night air spilled steak and coffee smells from a sack of odors hauled from the Elite Cafe
Beneath penniless Sam Jackson’s window two dogs argued like nations over a morsel found in a garbage can
Strong Hunger slashed Sam’s belly with eagle talons until he staggered wounded and sore to the street
Daily papers itemed: “An unidentified Negro was shot and instantly killed late last night by Officer Patrick Riley while trying to break into the rear of the Dew Drop Inn … ”
Notes:
“Sam Jackson” originally appeared in I Am the American Negro (Black Cat Press, 1937) and is from Black Moods: Collected Poems (University of Illinois Press, 2002). © 2002 Board of Trustees. Used with permission of the University of Illinois Press.
This poem is part of the portfolio “As Direct as Good Blues: Frank Marshall Davis.” You can read the rest of the portfolio in the December 2023 issue.
Source:
Poetry
(December 2023)
