The Fortune of a Racist, April 11-21, 2013

 

My dad told me once that
Having a twenty in his pocket
A beer in his hand
A woman on his arm meant
He was nigger-rich
 
A dividend of 80-proof boulevard whiskey:
Balance sheets of paint on his body
Proof of class inked on his calves, in black and white
Color was a luxury one could not afford
Superficial affluence manifest on a kid gone AWOL long before
 
A flag with stars in crossed bars marked him a
               Son of the Confederacy
Held tight between the long legs of a Marilyn
Caressing her pussy as one might imagine a sailor imagining being there
Between those long legs
Treasure ripe for exploitation
Affluence, abundance, profusion