What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? Or fester like a sore— And then run? Does it stink like rotten meat? Or crust and sugar over— like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?
They worked They were always on time They were never late They never spoke back when they were insulted They worked They never took days off that were not on the calendar They never went on strike without permission They worked ten days a week and were only paid for five They worked They worked They worked and they died They died broke They died owing They died never knowing what the front entrance of the first national city bank looks like
Juan Miguel Milagros Olga Manuel All died yesterday today and will die again tomorrow passing their bill collectors on to the next of kin All died waiting for the garden of eden to open up again under a new management All died dreaming about america waking them up in the middle of the night screaming: Mira Mira your name is on the winning lottery ticket for one hundred thousand dollars All died hating the grocery stores that sold them make-believe steak and bullet-proof rice and beans All died waiting dreaming and hating
Dead Puerto Ricans Who never knew they were Puerto Ricans Who never took a coffee break from the ten commandments to KILL KILL KILL the landlords of their cracked skulls and communicate with their latino souls
Juan Miguel Milagros Olga Manuel From the nervous breakdown streets where the mice live like millionaires and the people do not live at all are dead and were never alive
Juan died waiting for his number to hit Miguel died waiting for the welfare check to come and go and come again Milagros died waiting for her ten children to grow up and work so she could quit working Olga died waiting for a five dollar raise Manuel died waiting for his supervisor to drop dead so he could get a promotion
Is a long ride from Spanish Harlem to long island cemetery where they were buried First the train and then the bus and the cold cuts for lunch and the flowers that will be stolen when visiting hours are over Is very expensive Is very expensive But they understand Their parents understood Is a long non-profit ride from Spanish Harlem to long island cemetery
Juan Miguel Milagros Olga Manuel All died yesterday today and will die again tomorrow Dreaming Dreaming about queens Clean-cut lily-white neighbourhood Puerto Ricanless scene Thirty-thousand-dollar home The first spics on the block Proud to belong to a community of gringos who want them lynched Proud to be a long distance away from the sacred phrase: Que Pasa
These dreams These empty dreams from the make-believe bedrooms their parents left them are the after-effects of television programs about the ideal white american family with black maids and latino janitors who are well train— to make everyone and their bill collectors laugh at them and the people they represent
Juan died dreaming about a new car Miguel died dreaming about new anti-poverty programs Milagros died dreaming about a trip to Puerto Rico Olga died dreaming about real jewellery Manuel died dreaming about the irish sweepstakes
They all died like a hero sandwich dies in the garment district at twelve o’clock in the afternoon social security number to ashes union dues to dust
They knew they were born to weep and keep the morticians employed as long as they pledge allegiance to the flag that wants them destroyed They saw their names listed in the telephone directory of destruction They were train to turn the other cheek by newspapers that mis-spelled mispronounced and misunderstood their names and celebrated when death came and stole their final laundry ticket
They were born dead and they died dead Is time to visit sister lopez again the number one healer and fortune card dealer in Spanish Harlem She can communicate with your late relatives for a reasonable fee Good news is guaranteed Rise Table Rise Table death is not dumb and disable— Those who love you want to know the correct number to play Let them know this right away Rise Table Rise Table death is not dumb and disable Now that your problems are over and the world is off your shoulders help those who you left behind find financial peace of mind Rise Table Rise Table death is not dumb and disable If the right number we hit all our problems will split and we will visit your grave on every legal holiday Those who love you want to know the correct number to play let them know this right away We know your spirit is able Death is not dumb and disable RISE TABLE RISE TABLE
Juan Miguel Milagros Olga Manuel All died yesterday today and will die again tomorrow Hating fighting and stealing broken windows from each other Practicing a religion without a roof The old testament The new testament
according to me gospel of the internal revenue the judge and jury and executioner protector and eternal bill collector Second-hand shit for sale learn how to say Como Esta Usted
and you will make a fortune They are dead They are dead and will not return from the dead until they stop neglecting the art of their dialogue— for broken english lessons to impress the mister goldsteins— who keep them employed as lavaplatos porters messenger boys factory workers maids stock clerks shipping clerks assistant mailroom assistant, assistant assistant to the assistant’s assistant assistant lavaplatos and automatic artificial smiling doormen for the lowest wages of the ages and rages when you demand a raise because is against the company policy to promote SPICS SPICS SPICS Juan died hating Miguel because Miguel’s used car was in better running condition than his used car Miguel died hating Milagros because Milagros had a colour television set and he could not afford one yet Milagros died hating Olga because Olga made five dollars more on the same job Olga died hating Manuel because Manuel had hit the numbers more times than she had hit the numbers Manuel died hating all of them Juan Miguel Milagros and Olga because they all spoke broken english more fluently than he did
And now they are together in the main lobby of the void Addicted to silence Off limits to the wind Confine to worm supremacy in long island cemetery This is the groovy hereafter the protestant collection box was talking so loud and proud about
Here lies Juan Here lies Miguel Here lies Milagros Here lies Olga Here lies Manuel who died yesterday today and will die again tomorrow Always broke Always owing Never knowing that they are beautiful people Never knowing the geography of their complexion
PUERTO RICO IS A BEAUTIFUL PLACE PUERTORRIQUENOS ARE A BEAUTIFUL RACE If only they had turned off the television and tune into their own imaginations If only they had used the white supremacy bibles for toilet paper purpose and make their latino souls the only religion of their race If only they had return to the definition of the sun after the first mental snowstorm on the summer of their senses If only they had kept their eyes open at the funeral of their fellow employees who came to this country to make a fortune and were buried without underwear
Juan Miguel Milagros Olga Manuel will right now be doing their own thing where beautiful people sing and dance and work together where the wind is a stranger to miserable weather conditions where you do not need a dictionary to communicate with your people Aqui Se Habla Espanol all the time Aqui you salute your flag first Aqui there are no dial soap commercials Aqui everybody smells good Aqui tv dinners do not have a future Aqui the men and women admire desire and never get tired of each other Aqui Que Pasa Power is what’s happening Aqui to be called negrito means to be called LOVE
I think of you
and the continents brilliant and arid
and the slender heart you are sharing my share of with the American air
as the lungs I have felt sonorously subside slowly greet each morning
and your brown lashes flutter revealing two perfect dawns coloured by New York
see a vast bridge stretching to the humbled outskirts with only you
Standing on the edge of the purple like an only tree
and in Toledo the olive groves’ soft blue look at the hills with silver
like glasses like and old ladies hair
It’s well known that God and I don’t get along together
It’s just a view of the brass works for me, I don’t care about the Moors
seen through you the great works of death, you are greater
you are smiling, you are emptying the world so we can be alone
I like to be in America Okay by me in America Everything free in America For a small fee in America
Buying on credit is so nice One look at us and they charge twice I have my own washing machine What will you have though to keep clean?
Skyscrapers bloom in America Cadillacs zoom in America Industry boom in America Twelve in a room in America
Lots of new housing with more space Lots of doors slamming in our face I'll get a terrace apartment Better get rid of your accent
Life can be bright in America If you can fight in America Life is all right in America If you're all white in America
La la la la la la, America America La la la la la la, America America
Here you are free and you have pride Long as you stay on your own side Free to do anything you choose Free to wait tables and shine shoes
Everywhere grime in America Organized crime in America Terrible time in America You forget I'm in America
I think I'll go back to San Juan I know a boat you can get on (Bye Bye!) Everyone there will give big cheer! Everyone there will have moved here
Alan drives a cab at night, Has cab driver’s elbow In his left arm, Sells real estate by day.
Alan dreams of a big deal, Of opening a classy poolhall. Has a four million dollar deal Which will probably fall through, Has a big land deal with the Post Office But it will take 20 years to deliver Because they are so slow.
Alan collects baseball cards and comic books Hates condos and townhouses Though he lives in one. Was a trader for nineteen and one-half years Then fired when the market melted.
Alan, even if he was rich, Would not let his stepdaughter By his second wife Have her own phone and private line Like her rich friend Rebecca has Because after all she is only twelve.
Alan, half Jewish, has three tattoos. “I got them recently because I wanted them. My Jewish aunt nearly had a stroke When she saw them.”
Alan admits he is a pack rat saving Everything, loves wood, restoration, and antiques. Alan admires the people who buy old houses And fix them up. Hates the development of Staten Island Blaming it on the people from Brooklyn.
Alan was cooking sausages and onions (His other half is Italian) In his back yard When a woman knocked his parked car Into the next block, Totaled it; he got $1,200 more Than it was worth.
Alan found a turtle and put It in a safe stream, Stopped a dog from killing a cock In historic Richmondtown.
Alan hates the dump— ninety-four percent of the garbage there Is dropped by the other boroughs— Likes the idea of secession, Staten Island free and independent.
Alan apologetically asks If he didn’t talk too much As he brings me to my destination.
He leaves me a great silence And I wish I had one million American bucks To tip the exuberant Alan.
Alan, take this million bucks Strip the paint off the good wood of your dreams And tattoo the tedious days.
Today's poem - Winter Sketches - from Jewish poet, Charles Reznikoff. Written in January, 1933, in New York.
