They Named Me King Billy Poem by Lisa Bellear

Hated wearin’ shoes, makes no sense and
all these other skins and a gentleman’s
hat. For a king, for a king. Sometimes,
they laughed. I will focus above
the taunts, I am King Billy.

No point in being shamed, tattered trousers
and who needs buttons. My hands ache, but I will continue
to stand alone, dignified. Not many left,
that is what I hear. Sickness and cruel remarks,
how awful these Christians. I want to curse, but here
I am again, being photographed again.

A king’s life must be recorded, measured, examined.
I am cooperative, I have limited choices. With experience,
confidence and a royal name, all I ask for is respectful
conversation and fresh food.

King Billy, a title for a King
King Billy, last of his people
King Billy, enjoy your life
King Billy enjoy your title.

King Billy will die
King Billy is dead
King Billy, came from, was related too
King Billy King Billy King Billy
Your life was worth more than a title.
The whiteman crowned away your memory
In time your spirit will come to
rest