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The Detox

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This week’s poem is by Gil Scott Heron entitled “Winter in America”

Winter in America

From the Indians who welcomed the pilgrams
to the buffalo who once ruled the plains;
ike the vultures circling beneath the dark clouds
looking for the rain/looking for the rain.
From the cities that stagger on the coast lines
in a nation that just can’t take much more/
like the forest buried beneath the highways
never had a chance to grow/never had a chance
to grow.
It’s winter, winter in america
and all of the healers have been killed or forced
away.
It’s winter, winter in america
and ain’t nobody fighting ’cause nobody knows
what to save.
The con-stitution was a noble piece of paper;
with Free Society they struggled but they died in
vain/
and now Democracy is ragtime on the corner
hoping that it rains/hoping that it rains.
And I’ve seen the robins perched in barren
treetops
watching last ditch racists marching across the
floor
and like the peace signs that melted in our
dreams
never had a chance to grow/never had a
chance to grow.
It’s winter, winter in america
and all of the healers done been killed or put in
jail
it’s winter, winter in america
and ain’t nobody fighting ’cause nobody knows
what to save.

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