[New-Poetry] from the Writer's Almanac

[Anny Ballardini]

Poem: "Dance Suite: Hip Hop" by W.D. Snodgrass from Not for Specialists: New and Selected Poems. © BOA Editions, Ltd. Reprinted with permission. (buy now) 


Dance Suite: Hip Hop 

                    Lined up
                    Girls and boys,
          Coins in the drop slot; wind-up toys;
                    Necks that switch
                    Every which way;
                    Join the Hip Hop, rapping like a robot.

Streets full of bus fumes; stairs full of shovin';
TV's full of promises: luxuries and lovin';
Oil's on the water; spray's on the pumpkin;
Asprin's full of strychnine, cyanide or somethin'.

                    Wig-wag
                    Knee joints,
          Elbows crimped to zig-zag points;
                    Wrists and ankles
                    Twisted into angles;
          Splayed-out fingers clamping into fists.

Sidewalks full of garbage; pictures in the news;
Mayor's on the radio spouting out excuses;
Bars on the storefronts; landlord's on the way;
Cops have got their spring list-they'll make it pay.

                    Nuts and bolts
                    Charged by volts
          Jumpstart into spastic jerks and jolts;
                    Gears and notches
                    Grinding crotches,
          Juicing up the parts of the fools that watch us.

Ground's full of chemicals; ocean's full of waste;
Brother's full of steroids; meat got no taste;
Ceilings full of roaches; rats around the cradle;
Everybody's learned to read the lies on the label.

                    Swirl around
                    Clown, on the ground,
          Twirling like a dervish whirls, upside down;
                    Legs there,
                    Kicking in the air
          Striking like scorpions or Medusa hair.

A bullet's in the chamber; needle's in the vein;
Leg's set in plaster; no time for pain;
Street's full of dealers; girls are on the curbs;
Make a killing fast and get out for the suburbs.
                    Shift your shoulder
                    Like a soldier
          Ant, an identical mannekin or clone;
                    Who can hurt a tall doll
                    Rigid and mechanical
          Dancing the dictates of a microphone?

W.D. Snodgrass 




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Anny Ballardini
http://annyballardini.blogspot.com/
http://www.fieralingue.it/modules.php?name=poetshome
http://www.moriapoetry.com/ebooks.html
I Tell You: One must still have chaos in one to give birth to a dancing star! 
Friedrich Nietzsche 
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