CARMICHAEL AND JONES
I am waiting at the Mercantile Exchange; too
jagged men are smoking cigarettes beneath the
wooden shelter-roof. They look like huddled
refugees about to leave for another land.
-
I walked over to them to speak; I said 'what is
the proclamation you were reading aloud this
morning at the entrance?' They looked at me -
we all knew this was but an instant, and not
some historic moment of memory. 'That was
our proclamation - we have started a movement
anew for the individual rights of free men.'
-
I wanted to say 'you do not need to do this,
you are here in America.' But I knew that was
not any longer true - men are in chains everywhere.
Tired and true, and unaware, but in chains.
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