Are you the brother who tried to order a sandwich from a
stool at the luncheonette counter?
I don’t suppose
it was your grandkid that got his fool brains blown away in Ferguson?
You don’t go to see LeBron strut his stuff, too expensive.
It’s been an uphill struggle to get to where the green lawns
don’t carry messages that tell you where the servants’ entrance is.
Even today, there are those sanctimonious whip carriers,
lashing you with lies that safeguard the white man’s vote.
I listened as a Georgia Cracker told of your “shorter”
history as a reason for “your peoples” lack of intellectual progress.
You, whoever the hell you are, have carried my water for far
too long. The price I paid and my debt to you is incalculable. I need to get
off your back. It is killing both of us.
No comments:
Post a Comment