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Wherever we go we take mental notes –
survey our surroundings like recon missions.
Most adept at playing our positions.
Without a sound we both speak and listen –
a “Roger that” with a quick chin lift and
an immediate return to park.
This innocuous gesture marks
our membership, for we are a part
of the Brotherhood of the Nod.
Our order is fraternal.
Whether we tuck a Wall Street Journal
in our pit, or perch a chew stick between our lips,
sport hard bottoms or Timbs,
spring wool or denim on our limbs,
the gesture informs…
The man inside his uniform
is a Brother from the set of Nod.
This is how we initially engage
before unwitting eyes on the public stage.
No fist bumps. No pounds. Just the quick up and down
of the melanated mandible. It’s clearly understandable –
“I don’t know you, but I acknowledge you,
My Brother of the Nod.”
Bald head or dread, light skin or dark,
this chin lift conveys we are Brothers at heart
navigating terrain that is dangerous.
Despite being nameless
to each other, we recognize we are Brothers,
so we Nod.
This maneuver strikes some as peculiar.
Their unease uncovered
by the fear that we might, in fact,
all know each other.
Jumping to conclusions that their exclusion
must mean revolution is afoot
to exact retribution for what they took
from the Brothers who Nod to each other
in peace while we dwell in the land of the beast!
Acknowledging the humanity of each
with a simple nod of solidarity.
-HymnAgen
