Going South

The whiplash of hearing black
arraigned in absentia
by a white jury of my peers.
Euphemisms about isms
and smiles that say just give her time.

Black folks out here are not the same
as those you’ve come to know.
We’ve never treated them the same
so they’re still Jimming the Crow.
You’ll forgive us that we’ve no faith
in them, though faith is all we have,
because in time you will forget
that black havenots can have.

What scares me now is that the whip
no longer strikes. My ears may ache,
but that is just the Kool-Aid, spiked.


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