Rasta

stepping street middle,
my eyes floated to the giant plane
slow-motion-crashing
                     through the car wash
savage loads of people 
                     gathering
to the corner where I heard 'god' internalized


i turned around to
see sitting masses
one single man stood 


dark hair
dark skin
army uniform with Japan on one shoulder
US on the other


I said we need to help the people 
be happy
be safe
be 
e
 we began singing: 
I am a rastafarian



over
over
over
over
with dancing fervour 
bob's words leading 
people pouring smiles down the street


and that's when i saw her behind me


dark hair
dark skin
shocked into the zombie walk
i wouldn't let her go
she needed to follow him
guided liaison


until we stopped in front of my house
to find a shack-bar
serving up shots of 
"The United States of America"
sending the bikers into laughter.