Dogpatch Greys
by
Jon Presco
It’s a known fact
the Greys parked their saucers atop
the Potrero Power-stack
and recharged their engines.
Children who grew up by the bay
saw them all the time!
The night guards didn’t want to mess with them
nor be called “crazy”.
I just got a response from a historian
who pretended she did not know what I am talking about.
She sent me to the library
as faraway from Site 9 as they could.
Above is the same old trick they use
to render us worker-slaves.
I went to another of their civic “brainstorming” sessions,
and they took everyone in the room, but two.
Folks that go to see ‘The Planners’
are lonely and unemployed.
They are not missed.
They are plum tuckered out after a month of hard labor
they have no memory of.
When I took a pic at this Gathering Place,
the woman at the door asked if I was the press.
“I cover the waterfront!”
“She laughed!
“Who sang that great song?”
They say they want your history so they can preserve it.
They want to pickle you
and take your frozen soul away
And here he come
the black man with a
electric guitar
to play to the sound
of seagulls
and the water lapping up
against the broken
concrete
blocks
