Though the date may be late… and Those type things don’t happen anymore…MUCH…dare I say
Those type things don’t happen MUCH anymore… (yes I dared) It is nevertheless ingrained…
No matter the age or the date However young or old… It is in our DNA… and Our DNA does not forget Will not allow us As other cultures will To easily enjoy The remote loveliness… and Maniacally flowering greenery… and Beauteous quiet of this Southern forest… this Confederate lake… Without our spirits Sadly counting The cumulative number of Hundreds of years of Fertilization by Black Men’s bones…
But like my father and his father before him We show up anyway… Albeit somewhat uneasily… While the native good-ole-boys Stand stock still and stare Actin’ like they never seen one’a us before… and Though we arrived obviously prepared for what we came to do They still stare… as if wondering what we could possibly be doing here… or maybe… how dare we enjoy God’s green earth with our brown selfs…
And my beautiful Black Man with ease of motion Audaciously pays the Black Tax (the quoted price over what the sign says the price is) As I bait my line in defiance Albeit somewhat uneasily… and Cast it out into this confederate lake
And my beautiful Black Man Also stands… broad shoulders back… and Pointedly does not acknowledge the presence of the natives As they stand stock still and stare But it is there (We will NOT be afraid… and we will NOT go away) Unspoken between us... But Always in the back of the mind… The recesses of the consciousness… Preparation for this day… and the worst that it can bring… Is ingrained…