Whistlelo

Whistlelo

This is one of a series of poems exploring Manhattan’s African Burial Ground. Learn more.

A free New York Negro living in an attic with two enslaved New York Negroes: 1790s

Freedom?! I live in a lawyer’s clamped

attic with Minnie and Cudjoe

who ain’t free: same much the same

they do behind the lawyer’s bolted

doors. Also cain’t vote, testify, no

ponderin’ on a jury. No rights.

Slave codes. They fought

because of tax sum’thin—without

reprezintashun. Where’s my war?  

shortlink: dogb.us/whistlelo

          

               

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