Native Oval

I swear! It’s as if John Wilkes Booth is now in The Oval… Too much of a coward to fight for the cause; believing in white supremacy, though not willing to lace up his boots or even don a white hood. He’s got a pistol in his pocket though. (And an amendment to back it up – alongside so many regrets, so many insecurities). I wonder what they do in there? In that sweaty pocket of heavy punk-assness… Do they lie next to each other and touch when they think everyone is asleep? The pistol, the regrets, the insecurities… I bet you two silver dollars that the loaded bullets of the latter two shoot further than the aforementioned. Banking on the inattention and lethargy provoked by watching ‘Our American Cousin’ in church-like pews. Clap! For an actor named Booth! After all, the shots sounded so…real!

Hereditary defeat is funny like that. And the humid dubiety of the Armed Slave is palpable map-wide. I am convinced that what we are fighting for will never sound, never look, never be anything comparable to Unity. What we are fighting for is the right to state our color in a whisper or yell. The right to place any inflection on it that we damn well please. And then back it up with pride. Black. Pride! Black. Pride! What we are fighting for is for someone to admit to the real reason the surrender flag is always painted…white. Admittance only. Keep your repentance. Keep your reparations. 40 acres and a mule is bound to make a slave out of…someone.

Admit it… That Oval Office makes you feel like less of a man…?! Let me give you some advise… Don’t believe everything you are told. White does not trump all other hues. Underground does not necessarily equate with Black. Black-market. Neither does extortion. Black-mail-list-ball. And surrender flags are not white. Nope! Hell naaaw! They’re dripping RED…too heavy to oblige the wind. Reminding us all that The Oval, is indeed an annular place. And what goes around…