Timothy Yan, that was his name
I miss him, still, 71 years later
I don't know if he's alive now
Nor, really did I know then in 1942
We were kids, he was 11 and now
would be 82 or 83
I don't know if he'd remember me
But, I remember him
and will forever
He was Canadian
He was my best friend
His family was Japanese
We'd come from Ontario, Burlington
Work brought dad west
So, we settled in a suburb of Vancouver
Tim's family had been here for a few years
There weren't a lot of Japanese in Canada
He was the first one I saw
We didn't have any in Burlington
So as I know
We lived on the same street
Went to the same school
He was Canadian
We played baseball, road hockey
football, we were brothers
blood brothers, we were a team
We moved west in 1938
I met him that fall in school
We were instant friends
The day I saw that St. Louis Cardinal hat
stuck in his pocket, all rolled up
He'd be Stan The Man, I'd be Red Russer
He was Syl Apps, I was Sam LoPresti
I was Turk Broda, he was anyone he wanted to be
We were both Joe Di Maggio
We were brothers
I remember the noise first
Great big Army trucks,
Olive green
All up the street
Not just at the Yan place
The Yokishuris, Wans, and Timmy's Aunt too
Soldiers, loading the trucks
We weren't allowed out to see
Notices had been posted though the door
We could only watch and wonder
They were being moved
They scared the powers that be
Little Japanese families
Many born here
Scared the powers of  King in Ottawa
And they had to be moved
Inland, to the Okanagan Valley
To Camps, in Canada, their country, Camps
Canada was at war
With it's own people
With 11 year old Timothy Yan
Ever since Pearl Harbour
Ottawa got scared
Japanese fishermen in the west
Japanese fighter planes from the east
There had to be spies in British Columbia
Tim Yan was apparently one of them
They were told their property was safe
All their goods in storage
They were lied to
A month after they left
The auctioneers came in
Everything was sold
Everything...
I hope he kept that hat
Dad bought what he could
So did other neighbours
I still have the boxes
Never opened
Waiting for the Yans,
I miss Joe DiMaggio
I didn't understand it then
And I don't now
My teachers couldn't explain it
My minister said it was the best
That didn' t help either
What best?
Who decided what was best?
Best for who?
It wasn't best for me, or Tim
Nobody asked us
He was just gone
I spent years looking for him
He never came back after the war
They were moved further east
They were sent to Japan
He was from Canada
Why would they send him to Japan
He was gonna be the first Japanese big leaguer
I hope he made it
I grew up and became a lawyer
A citizenship lawyer
This was not going to happen on my watch
To anyone again
Not while I was around
I miss him
He went to war
And never fired a shot
He went to war
And never knew why...

'Oga, wetin you bring come na'
Nothing, sorry.

'My broda, what do you have for us'
Love, only love.

'Where is my morning coffee?'
Pardon? I'm not a café.

Where did you bury it?
Your shame, your conscience?
It must be somewhere dark and deep.
Where  you are haunted by dreamless sleep.

Some with a uniform, some with a gun
Some with a smile, with a glint of fun.
All with hands outstretched, seeking, begging
Asking, threatening.
So much coded, yet crystal intent.

It has spread all over, from the janitor to the judge
All that is different are the sums and the styles.
Corruption corrupts all. It condemns all.

Yet, it spreads further, fertilised by impunity.
Fed by the hopelessness of 'how things are'
They sell their integrity for pennies,
They sell us all out for what I spend on toilet paper.

Where did you bury it?
Your future and that of your children?
What price their integrity?
What cost the impunity?

It's not that I'm making excuses
For the days that I messed up
Not that I want to be cut some slack
For the horrible things that I've done

Though I must tell you
There's a lot than you know
The moments behind the scenes
That birthed the themes you see
That makes you upset
Go wild and make
You feel that I don't deserve a thing

The stories behind
The mood swings
The character flaws
And sudden outbursts of anger

It's hard for me to explain
But I was behind bars
Before I went there.
That dark cold floor
That locked door

shushes and hushes
Of don't tell mummy and Daddy
Do you know my cry?
Do you know the sentences
I had to carry in those,
hidden moments

Once sentient
Became forever dead
Ice cold and broke
If placed in a mold
He wouldn't fit

Uncle Salisu
Aunty Aaliyah
Broda Jide
Sister Uche

Did I tell you that Monday
As I walked down the path to school
The cold shivers that ran down my spine
It was not in the bush
It was not under the dark stairwell

In plane sight
All eyes were watching
But still nobody could see
The hidden moments
Where peach became squash

Beaten out of shape
Confined to the shades
The forever dark places
With no aim
There was no one to blame
Nobody knew so ?

mh

Two words,
Delta, state
Helped, raise me
Train me
Cage me  
Praise me
Save me
Brought me up in a way where  I couldn't be lazy
Wordly
But could be just as crazy
Grew up in a world that wouldn't let me be so mighty
Cause they fear if you make it big, they'll feel so tiny
Remind me, why do we all feel so empty
Just because another broda making his money, so gently
Patiently
Waiting for the time my people change their ways
Mind their business cause it pays
Stay your lane,
Stay my lane
This not your fricking race
Why you holding a mace, to my face
Why you tryna bring me back down
No not today
I'm tired of getting the same old treatment
When they ain't gonna notice all of  your achievements
You'll end up just a victim, another case study for the system
With some big dreams,
Why even fight it, you'll just end up being slim
They'll call you names, ask you why you never make it big
Tell them they buried your ******* dreams