The Last Time I Sleep with my Eyes Open

Who remembers Memphis in the dark days after King was shot...
Who ran across the street in a summer rain to smile at the girls in the negro bar...
Who sluck to a secret place to watch the sun rise over a still and wet morning...
Who ground his foot into the red clay as anger numbed his body and stole his pain...
Who watched the fishermen guide their boats down river as brown girls waved from the shore...
Who stood morose and sullen as the body of King was removed from the Lorraine...
Who dreamed of running back home and standing tall against his father's sharp eyes...
Who drank from the well and handed the cup to his brother...
Who wept over his grave as the sky cracked from a sonic boom...
Who stepped into the shadows and through the light of an afternoon daydream...
Who gave the call to war then yearned for peace...
Who ran to Memphis to fish in a forest of rusty tugs...
Who forgot.