The Dogs Slip
Out Again
Tricia Knoll
night sticks,
and fire hoses. 1963.
Birmingham
terrified this child viewer.
Now with the
remote in my hand,
in full-color
black dogs pull
on leashes held
by corporate security.
Up the chain of
command someone cried
havoc at the
oil fields. Let loose
corporate dogs
to draw blood
for black oil
money. Scare
the people with
treaty rights.
Tell them oil
drives, not ancient bones,
nor sacred
waters, nor wind prayers.
Only rights of
passage
of petroleum.
Handlers ignore
the bones
dogs might
understand.
People stand
up, hope
never to be
bitten again.
The tanks and
riot gear
were never far
behind.
Poet’s Notes: I'd be there if I were younger. The
images of the dogs snarling on the handlers’ leashes still scare me. I feel for
the brave people who come in peace to protect their ancestral lands against the
corporate behemoth of oil. Not only the wind brings tears to my eyes.
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