January 18, 2015

Some of us, the less wicked ones, feel pride

In the election of a black man

Perhaps we sigh as if from climbing 

a mountain

We did not climb

We claim, "We won the war!" 

As if noncombatants count as colonels

Some of us invested in the icing of history

Say, "The Egyptians had slaves."

And leave it at that

And others more bluntly at dinner parties add

"They sold their own people!"

As if buying humans were mandatory

Some of us who knew better before we

Moved to the suburbs 

Squawk about our own discomforts as though 

these were unjust

“My kid didn’t get in because of the quota..." 

As if the playing fields were level 

The referees impartial

Ignoring or scorning the scales of history

On which our own ascension hangs high

On the burdens weighing down the other

The years of cotton, Jim Crow, lynchings,

Judicial equivocations like separate but equal,

and young men like 

Amadou 

Michael  

Eric

Ousmane

Sean 

Steven

Tamir

And too many more

As if history cleans itself

As if our own absence from the past makes

History not happen

Some of us who think that we are the

Only law-abiding ones

Rally willy-nilly behind law enforcement 

As if the guys with guns are sacrosanct

Proceeding only on proud principles

As if none equate the black man 

With recklessness, with defiance, with an idea

That he could walk around the universe, our universe

With confidence

While with guns drawn they fire with the confidence

That we see them as the last

Line of defense between disorder

And a good night, good white sleep

Some of us really wonder why they

Won’t accept what white D.A.’s and 

White grand juries 

Decree

We complaisantly conclude 

"That’s what thugs do!"

As if we were forced to swallow the bitter pill

We prescribe to others and say

“My son must be killed for stealing a cigar, for smoking weed,

For running, for playing, for driving, for being white..."

Not worried that when we say goodbye to our sons

We did not give them lists of the 

DO’s and DON’Ts

When stopped by the cops

Some of us claim that they play the race card

Forgetting that we have always dealt 

From a stacked deck

Some of us 

Annoyed that the N word is off limits

Have made the first black president a scapegoat

Insulting him, defaming him, ridiculing him, 

His wife, and children

In a way no white man would allow

Cowering under cover of free speech

Only at our local pubs we swap hate and race

"What do they want?"

"When will they be satisfied?"

"Who do they think they are?"

"Why is this our problem?"

As if we ever did anything to right 

The wrongs 

The sins for which 

In our unholy 

Self-assurance we 

See no good reason to atone 

Is not one of us ashamed?