There
is a red rubber vein
bulging
in
the industrial neck of this city.
can’t
speak history
without
blood
curling
my fist
around
this night in Brussels -
where
a statue of King Leopold II
is
pedestalled
the
deep red that flames
my
passport,
fires
my feet through the lines of E.U Citizens
at
the Eurostar Check in.
with
an i-phone connected
to
the modern day
life
expectancy
of
a Congolese miner
These
are Leopold’s words cut
into
his stone statue -
“I have undertaken the work in Congo in the interest
of civilisation and for the good of Belgium”
These words have severed limbs
And if don’t charge my i-phone
history will have no reception.
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