A Racist Bone
I don’t have one,
I don’t buy none.
I don’t borrow none,
I don’t crave none.
No!
I don’t want a single one
them racist bones,
not underside my ribs,
‘tectin’ my heart—
not overtop my skull,
shieldin’ my brain—
not ‘round my back,
bulwarkin’ my spine.
No!
Day I’s born,
doctor don’t slap my backside
with one them
racist bones,
and Mother don’t feed me up
with no gnawin’ on none those
racist bones,
and my school don’t teach me
no ‘lectual
racist bones,
and my church don’t hymn me
with no musical
racist bones,
and my friends don’t pal me up with
“We in this together,”
racist bones.
No!
But just a second young man—
now I been thinkin’ ‘bout it
long time—
goodly while—
indeed, mosta my life—
despite I lovin’ LeBron
roarin’ up court,
full steam ahead,
outta my way!
and marvel that Stephen Curry pest,
shootin’ anywhere on court,
swishin’ ‘em like
nobody’s business—
why do I keep hopin’
yeah, why I be hopin’
quietly,
so nobody notice me,
nobody hear me,
nobody notice me,
and if I don’t have no racist bone,
nowhere my body
growing inside me,
secret in my mind somewheres,
crouched down my heart chambers,
camouflaged in my soul,
all invisible like,
then,
why,
I’m askin’ you why,
do I keep hopin’ some skinny
white kid come along,
someone like
Cousy, Bird, Pistol Pete,
all rolled up in one human concoction
like one them Thai spring rolls
all mixed up vegetables,
come along,
and throw a barricade up on LeBron,
shuttin’ him down all good an’ proper,
and hold Mr. Curry to 18 measly,
all the while puttin’ up
a grand 42 and 12 unselfish shares
himself
on any given Saturday night?
If I sincere got no racist bone,
then why I be thinkin’ that way?
Like that “Madeline” lady, Miss Clavel say,
Somethin’ not quite right here.
Could it be possible i got ‘fected
with one them racist viruses,
and it be festerin’ deep my marrow?
I sure as hell hope not!
. . . j
from the Childhood Remedy and Other Such collection
j's blog 