Our Memorializations Should Echo Thunder

Weathering red bricks

match the broken spirits of their molders—

molders who carried the weight of their 

masters’ evil convictions on their 

very shoulders—

the master that my peers and professors marvel over.

Oh Maker, how perfect is this institution 

for young minds like yours 

and theirs 

and mine,

to think a slave master would honor “those people” beyond their labor.

Weathering our pockets, for we’ve paid our dues.

Our [academic] weaponry drawn

gun salutes for the fight of those without names, 

marked as their duties 

of: Mother, Father, Carpenter or Farmer 

at the stone cold memorial.