The Inevitable Triumph


[A draft of a longer poem inspired by a report of how the Mexicans of Chiapas
state were exploding things in Mexico City in 1994.]

It is inevitable: 
  our triumph over evil.

I mean
The triumph of poor over rich.
The glorious triumph of many over few.  The triumph of
   those sitting on stoops over those riding in wagons, of
   those sitting over those riding, of
   those sitting on stoops over those driving cars, of
   those lounging in bars over those bent over lathes, of
   those bent over hoes over those bent over ledgers.

There are more of us: more of us 
  who went to school barefoot, 
  even after the first cold spell, and later
  who were kept out of school to pick cotton.

There are more of us 
  than there are of them.

That very thought is a power which fuels us and
  which deprives them of their peace of mind
  on their first-class flights (Atlanta-Nice).

They have their problems: leaky condoms,
  gunpowder that actually explodes,
  laws of physics which command the powder to explode, and
  women afraid of being heavy.

Our triumph is inevitable.

On that glorious noon,
   We shall march into all shopping malls 
   wearing garlands about our lucid heads.

Our triumph will be televised.



James Bolner, Sr.
Baton Rouge, LA