I haven’t said anything

George Floyd was murdered in broad daylight by an officer of the law with witnesses standing near, yet I haven’t said anything here.

People are protesting in the streets, still I’ve stayed home, safe in my little world, pleading age and fear of contracting a virus.

Friends are hurting, at each other’s throats, but I’ve not written a word. That’s my privilege and my shame.

Instead, I’m listening. Learning. Taking notes. My whiteness is my shield and my weakness in matters of color.

I know this, though, black lives matter, and even if I don’t know what else to do or say. I’ll keep saying those three words.

Black Lives Matter.

Privilege

we’ve all
been there,
done that;
inadvertently
chosen
the wrong path
or even worse,
knowingly picked
the greater
of two evils,
and still
others never
had the chance
to see the
paths of
separation
distinct for a
few, a blur to
many.
why for some
are such choices
ruinous,
unforgiveable,
irredeemable?
and for others,
merely sleeping
police in
destiny’s way?
happy accidents
of birth,
color, and
privilege
create a
line delineating
the merely flawed
from the
tragically
ill-fated.
we know our place
even if we refuse
the claiming.

Bigot

He says he is no bigot
Yet each and every time
There is a but behind his
Phrase and a smirk beneath
His eyes.

“I’m no bigot, but there’s a
Place for folks like them. The
Poor, the immigrant, the
Black, the brown.
There’s a way for them to
Have the same rights as we,
Just follow our rules, believe
Our lies, jump through our
Hoops, and if they survive
We might let them in to the
Whites only club,
But, then again,
They won’t ever be one of
Us.”

He says he is no bigot
Yet each and every time
There is a but behind his
Phrase and a smirk beneath
His eyes.

This was prompted by a Facebook conversation with a friend of a friend of a friend who always maintains he’s no bigot–right before he rolls out evidence of his bigotry. He’ll never read this, but I needed to get it out.

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