The Salt-Breakers

And who will teach the Black Man Braille,
And who will keep him spry and neat?
Supply a dog with friendly tail
To guide him tapping down the street?
Oh, jostling men in market-places,
Or, round, incurious pudding-faces –
Who will take off the Black Man’s curse, and cleanse us from the filth we eat?
From Araby to Jubbelpore, from Apia to Rome,
From Mexique shore to Magdala, the curse comes romping home.
And not for death be our lament,
And not for bitter monument,
But that we choke on salt betrayed, and die with maggots in our meat.

But who will lift the Black Man up,
Or proffer him a brother’s hand?
Sponge out the wormwood from his cup
And swish away his flies and sand?
Oh, champions of the backward races,
Oh, saviour men in pink twill braces –
Where leper, louse and Lazarus reign, the tribunal of Lion Land.
From Scottsboro’ to Adowa, Connecticut to Rome,
From Hobart Town to Martinique the curse comes creeping home.
And not the cost be our regret,
And not the sky-death’s blazing jet –
But that we pass with truths half-told. They know not; shall our bones forget?
But who will mend the Black Man’s grief?
Who be the first vice-president
On strong committees of relief
To show him all was kindly meant?
Oh, ladies weaving raffia baskets,
Oh, ye who treasure tears in caskets –
Who will tot up the balance-sheet, and prove that Christ was shrewdly spent?
From Jehol back to Paraguay, Liberia to Rome,
From Egypt down to Asmara the curse comes ringing home.
And let your tears be not for dust
Of staunch young limbs, of shattered trust –
But for the fools who trade in steel, and cannot spell the name of Rust.