the accidental racist #1
we’re running on half a sick day
pushing it forty-eight hours before vacation
riding the slowest 6 train uptown
to drop off a set of keys to my wife’s parents
at the cancer center
because they’re staying with us
for three days or five days
or we don’t know how many days
until the doctors give her mom the okay
to go back home
my wife is a goddamned wreck with all of this
their doctors’ appointments
other shit, her shit, work shit
the shitty small apartment we spent the morning fighting
over
neither of us want to be on an uptown 6 right now
there’s never room to breathe on these trains
no matter the time of day
the girl between us is hugging the pole like a stripper
she’s draped on the thing
a lollipop in her mouth
playing on her cell phone and teasing with her boyfriend
getting the slime of millions on her clothing
she weighs maybe one-hundred pounds
but she won’t give us an inch
new york, new york in the late summer blues
it amazes me that there aren’t more murders committed here
my wife finally gives up and pulls her hand away
she goes somewhere else to stand
the girl looks at her, rolls her eyes at her boyfriend
he says, she don’t want to stand next to you
because you ain’t white
like that’s it, asshole, i think
as his girl continues to hug the pole
spinning around now and knocking into everyone
because a bitch like her, she owns the 6 train
yeah, she don’t want to get your brown on her, he continues
if you was a white girl she’d probably be all huggin’ up on
you
white people too good for the train, the girl says
she laughs, keeps sucking her lollipop
i look over at the boyfriend
he’s got that clueless cro-magnon look
tattoos up and down the arm because he’s a bad ass
he’s glaring at my wife
who maybe does or does not know
that’s he’s talking about her
all i know is that she looks scared shitless
and more tired than her thirty-seven years should allow
fucking honkeys, he says under his breath
as i take a step toward him
his girl goes, shush
while i start to fantasize about smacking
his fat face off of the glass doors of the train
taking that big mouth of his
and wrapping it around that pole
sliding him to the train floor
one tattooed arm behind his back
pulling it up toward his thick tattooed neck
as his girl screams and tries to bat me off
whispering in his ear like a lover
tell me all about your racism now, my friend
please tell me.
the accidental racist
#2
we’re running on half a sick day
pushing it forty-eight hours before vacation
riding the slowest 6 train uptown
to drop off a set of keys to my wife’s parents
at the cancer center
because they’re staying with us
for three days or five days
or we don’t know how many days
until the doctors give her mom the okay
to go back home
my wife is a goddamned wreck with all of this
their doctors’ appointments
other shit, her shit, work shit
the shitty small apartment we spent the morning fighting
over
neither of us want to be on an uptown 6 right now
there’s never room to breathe on these trains
no matter the time of day
the girl between us is hugging the pole like a stripper
she’s draped on the thing
a lollipop in her mouth
playing on her cell phone and teasing with her boyfriend
getting the slime of millions on her clothing
she weighs maybe one-hundred pounds
but she won’t give us an inch
new york, new york in the late summer blues
it amazes me that there aren’t more murders committed here
my wife finally gives up and pulls her hand away
she goes somewhere else to stand
the girl looks at her, rolls her eyes at her boyfriend
he says, she don’t want to stand next to you
because you ain’t white
like that’s it, asshole, i think
as his girl continues to hug the pole
spinning around now and knocking into everyone
because she owns the 6 train
yeah, she don’t want to get your brown on her, he continues
if you was a white girl she’d probably be all huggin’ up on
you
white people too good for the train, the girl says
she laughs, keeps sucking her lollipop
i look over at the boyfriend
he’s got that clueless cro-magnon look
tattoos up and down the arm because he’s a bad ass
he’s glaring at my wife
who maybe does or does not know
that’s he’s talking about her
all i know is that she looks scared shitless
and more tired than her thirty-seven years should allow
fucking honkeys, he says under his breath
as i take a step toward him
his girl goes, shush
while i start to think about what to say back
how to make this train blush
with a whole dictionary of epitaphs
that can gush like a volcano from any willing mouth
in this hard and foolish land
me and cro-magnon boy going toe to toe
slapping tongues of hatred that we’ll never escape
keeping us both stuck in the mud only less than pigs
with america shining down
whispering in our ears like a lover
saying tell me all about your racism now, my friend
please tell me.
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