Playground - When politicians are given control

By Novell Jordan

Everyday, 

it seems to be a vicious cycle of 

Acculturation classrooms, 

Assimilation lessons, 

And conformity schoolwork. 

We don't dare walk around your building In our cultural clothings or 

Bother with home cooked lunches to avoid Your sensitive noses. 

Forced to hide our pride because you 

Prefer posers 

And as the lobotomy lectures drag on 

We dread recess creeping closer. 

Everyday, 

The privately funded staff 

Leads us to fenced in fields 

In which we are punished if we do not 

Sweat, bleed or heave 

Until there is only enough strength to kneel. Then, when we are overworked, broken down And scarred, 

Here y'all come: 

The teachers’ kids, 

Bullies of the yard. 

You show up with equipment passed down Yet deny being frauds. 

“Do you want to play a game?” 

“No” 

And without consent yall carry on. 

“Here are our rules. 

Our team will get a 400 meter advantage Then we can all start the race. 

We will determine your forward progress No matter how fast your pace. 

Even if one of you manages to 

outshine us 

We will determine the winners’ place. 

And finally, what we say goes, 

There is no pleading your case. 

We won’t allow any questioning, just follow our rules. And with a fair coin flip,

Heads we win, tails you lose” 

With the small autonomy and a grit you can’t tame We plot and we scheme, while we play your losing games. Our heroes and captains will always hold fame Cuz though they have fallen 

We never buried their names. 

Marsha P. 

James B. 

Maya A. 

Claudette C. 

Malcolm X. 

Nina S. 

To protect their lives 

We won’t name the rest. 

We play in handcuffs, in tear gas 

Even with bullets in our chest. 

But We never lose hope 

So we’re probably big pests. 

In teacher-overseer sight, 

We are openly beaten by you bullies. 

Where slurs are just “name calling” 

And girls can be grabbed by the pussies. 

Then you tell them they are lying and 

For attention they are crying. 

You police their bodies 

And any justified objection is 

Their God denying. 

We only have ourselves 

Cuz the teachers are no help. 

“Oh boys will be boys” 

Or 

“He just likes you. Can’t you tell?” 

With double black eyes and blood in our mouths, “You’re nothing but bullies!” 

We riot and shout. 

All of the marginalized caught in a human rights drought, And the yelling came loudest from 

The drained global south. 

With soot in their lungs and lands mined dry, Their cries did break through those gray, polluted skies. Political playgrounds are no place 

To have a fair fight 

But don’t worry, 

what's coming

is waiting in the next life. 

Recess don’t last forever 

And the bell will soon ring 

And the runts will ascend 

And father death will be waiting. You will have to face your Maker, He will reveal your people’s curse: “The closest your ancestors got to me Was in the back of a hearse. For the runts made it to heaven Where they live in constant mirth. I will grant you no salvation, 

Like the comfort of a hearth 

Instead you will live again 

In an agonizing rebirth. 

Among your wicked selves; 

Devils that made 

Hell on Earth

Novell Jordan is a New York-based poet and multimedia artist. Currently attending Howard University, Jordan's poetry has been featured in author, Fred Joseph's Patriarchy Blues. You can follow Novell Jordan on TikTok and Instagram