Poem
Maxine Beneba Clarke
something sure
sit down here now baby,
stop that fidgeting
listen big,
and understand
mama’s gotta school you
’bout something sure
’fore you grow into a man
now,
hannah clarke, she died today
we don’t know her from soap,
it’s true
she the one in the papers:
whose ex burn her up
as she driving the kids to school
(yeh, he pour petrol on three little ones –
and kill them angels too)
hurts my heart to think on it,
so baby, mama needs to know:
that a good man,
the man you’ll grow to be,
can lead a bad man home
d’you know to say
nah, don’t do that mate
or
that’s not fucken right,
you heard her, take your hand off her shoulder
and how ’bout you and i call it a night
i know you’re young,
and i taught you well
how decent folk behave
but if the time comes,
every woman is your mama,
when it come to saving
like if she on the street
and he smell like trouble:
getting right up close
and in her face
or some colleague in the lunch room’s saying
that damn bitch took my babies
if his veins all popping, fists all clenched
and his eyes are still as death
will you call it out,
or call it in now, baby,
trust your gut,
and use your head
we women mostly got each other’s backs
but sometimes busy, just surviving
set up against the acid throwers
hands-gripped-round-throats
locked doors, and petrol fires
and every two minutes
the state is called
to deal with
domestic violence
but a boy like you
could grow
to make a difference
if you try
like if he say
i’m gonna make her pay
a man like you
could remind him
about the time the twins were born
when he came in late;
could not stop smiling
saying
man, her back was arched in agony
but she wasn’t screaming ay:
just got our bubs here safely
shit, i won’t forget today
see, hannah and them kids
died brutal
we don’t know ’em all
from soap
but it aches my soul to muse on it
so babe, your mama needs to know
that a good man,
exactly the man you’ll be,
will lead a bad man home
