HasTavuk (Bread Basket of Turkey)

I hate to break it to you, America,
but they have milk and honey in Turkey too.

I hate to bust your bubble gum, but
their taffy makes mouths
and little brown kids happy
too.

Before we invented
the Mother’s Day buffet
they perfected the Sunday dinner.

They’ve got bad habits
that are older than our entire country,
and what we call “recovery”
they call “still learning how to quit.”

Thank God, Allah is patient.
Thank Allah, that God is growing up.

The speakers on that minaret
put that ezran (sahah)
on every street corner in da ’hood
like a boom box
and a piece of cardboard.

Just like a headspinning
Whirling Dervish,
cause to me and mine
the “G” in G-Funk
stands for Gospel,

kneels to no one
only the All Powerful.
Make the music with your mosque, Byz…
-antine
Period.

Black America,
stop pretending
you don’t know what it’s like
when the rest of the Western world
is trying to wrestle and arrest you
from your country and culture.
When the radio
is the only Ramadan you got
to keep clean.

We are no more
or less post-modern
than Hip Hop playlists
on Appalachian trailer park Pandoras.

Modern as Muslims in Mevlevi.
Crypto as Christians in Chicago.

We have no monopoly
on apple pies
and peach cobblers,
trees of green
nor clouds of white, America.

They are not “jealous”
of your freedom
to pretend you have freedom.

They are happy
knowing that they
and their government
are simply “friends with benefits,”
at least
they know where they stand.

Just because we made
dying for your country
cooler than dying
for your religion,
who gave us
the Bill of Rights to pretend
that’s less stupid?

How many of us are dying
to enlist our children?
Strap them in
for selective service,
what fraction of them
are actually begging mommy
and daddy to go the war?


Probably the same as yours.
America,
I even bought a Red Bull
at a truck stop
between prayers.

And maybe
the only thing you do
five times a day
is update your Facebook,
but between
Mickey Deez
and Burger Sultans
in Istanbul…

we ain’t as different
as we’d like to believe.
Sometimes they hate themselves too.

Thank Jah
that Jehovah is okay
with his nickname.
Thank the Most High
that we can still see her
from down here.

From our side of the planet
we don’t always see
the same crescent of moon,
but even when it’s new
we all still know it’s still there.

But in the end,
at least our flags
wear the same stars and scars
as a Thanksgiving dinner.