Hear, Hey Brown Sugar, sweet’s delight,
did you know Demerara climes,
that drip sweat danger for the slaves,
plantation workers in the fields?
Why wanted whites their coffee browned,
what stirred men’s souls, if not their plight?
What made them blind as crossed the sea,
so few to see all graced in cross.
There were more graves than grace to be,
move like molasses, treacle slow;
more just in trade we still await,
for profit, not the prophet heard.
So can you take the sickly, sweet,
drink, eat, wear what is owned, unfair,
or will our children, so amazed,
find us yet wanting in our ways?
Stephen Kingsnorth (Cambridge M.A., English & Religious Studies), retired to Wales, UK, from ministry in the Methodist Church due to Parkinson’s Disease, has had pieces curated by on-line poetry sites, printed journals and anthologies, including Poetry Potion. His blog is at https://poetrykingsnorth.wordpress.com