Lemon Andersen just wrote an amazing poem called “Noose York.”
The poet famous for his time on Def Poetry Jam penned this piece for The Nation. Check it out below.
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- Waiting for a Crown Victoria
- on the corner of Central & Putnam
- in the Bushwick section of Old Medina
- Waiting here on the corner
- for a Crown Victoria which finally shows up
- after running past a traffic light
- without the thought of a fast child
- crossing the street
- chasing her mother’s milk
- grocery list in hand.
- Pulling up to a hard stop
- heavy-footed brake
- The car doors unlock in a dominos spill.
- The driver jumps out
- points his finger and barks,
- “What are you doing here,
- got any drugs on you buddy?”
- This is not the cab
- I was waiting for,
- not the Spanglish taxi man
- who always tells me on my way to JFK
- I could get more bang
- for my dollar Americano
- if I spend my money in DR.
- “Static, static”
- His partner
- who jumps out of the passenger side
- with a walkie-talkie chirping
- is shaped like a radio DJ
- Too many crack-of-dawn diners in his blood
- He grips his pistol and also barks,
- “Hey big guy, where were you coming from?”
- The kids up the block
- take their eyes off the moon
- and I am center stage
- under that same moon, luminous
- against the storefront dry cleaner,
- shoved toward the cold glass
- by the hype man behind the badge
- face pressed tough against the cold glass,
- needle-and-thread neon sign rat-a-tat-tatting.
- I stare at the Selena-shaped tailor sewing inside.
- Wanting to speak, even if I stutter,
- I still have to utter the words
- to these officers
- for those kids who were staring at the moon,
- for their older brothers,
- their uncles dragging their backaches
- back from a prideful hard day’s labor.
- Wanting to speak for them with valor
- capture for these blue bloods
- the beautiful confidence
- snatched every day on this corner
- I pull out the heart to say,
- “Yes sir, no…”
- An empty can crooning,
- “No sir, yes…”
- The rhythmless words cut off by the rattlesnakes
- these nerves cut short by the quotas
- because history on this corner has proven
- that collars have to be made
- by the end of the month
- and these backward numbers have nothing
- in common with real suspects
- real crimes
- Like outta-town gun laws and Walmart shoppers.
- I go over the speech in my head
- “What are you going to arrest me for, officers?”
- Shit, that’s easy.
- “Do I look suspicious by the trends I wear
- for standing on the corner waiting for a cab?
- On the corner of a street you don’t own…”
- Damn, too liberal.
- “Sir, why do these men
- only get stopped for being black,
- for owning their brown skin?”
- That is it! That’s the stinger.
- But just then
- the radio DJ checks my chin and my pockets
- while his partner
- kicks my legs wide and to the side,
- and I finally yell out,
- “Do you even know who Israel Putnam was?!”
- Intermission…
- Do you know this corner was named after
- an American revolutionary
- who killed the last remaining wolf of
- Connecticut in a town called Brooklyn?
- You wouldn’t know that, hype man,
- cause you did not go to school
- to research the beat of your streets
- to uphold the law
- That’s right, this same corner
- where your guns make me feel like
- breathing air is a felony waiting to happen.
- Is it because of the way we look?
- How does this deep hooded sweater
- I wear over my head
- come with a license for you to kill
- when I wear it to block out the frozen world
- while the projects are overheated.
- Maybe it’s my sneakers
- I bought them for running,
- but if I run we all know what happens next.
- It can’t be the color of my skin
- when you both look like distant cousins
- If you go back far enough, aren’t we all…
- Then again maybe not,
- cause in my family we were raised
- not to point at people
- especially at officers
- cause they don’t point back with their fingers.
- You want to stop and frisk someone,
- stop and frisk the mayor
- cause his pockets
- are low and his money is high
- and the teachers are as broke as a joke.
- You will get more out of his spare change
- than what you can get
- out of these rabbit ears right now.
- You want to arrest somebody
- go arrest that new neighbor across the street,
- the one right there double-timing it
- with the checkers-game flannel shirt
- that could be mistaken for gang colors on me.
- Arrest him
- for not helping the doña next door
- with her bags of empanada ingredients
- up the stairs
- cause he is too busy constructing,
- plotting a blueprint plan
- to open up a Vietnamese restaurant
- run by Mexicans,
- when Doña Margo been dodging hollow tips
- right here,
- on the corner of Central & Putnam
- right here,
- when your precinct wouldn’t even drive
- down this block thirty years ago.
- You want to arrest me,
- arrest me for being honest
- cause I was lying before.
- The words never came out,
- never blossomed…. Never.
- Too scared of this new city
- pushing me out
- Too many front-page posts
- warning me
- it will be my word against yours
- The truth is that you know like I know
- that a law like stop-and-frisk
- is built to send
- more Puerto Ricans to Orlando
- Blacks to Camden
- and the Dominicans
- to Amish country, Pennsylvania
- But they will be back when it’s over.
- Cause they gotta go home
- We all gotta go home.
“Get more of Lemon’s poetry by watching the award-winning documentary LEMON on Hulu”
