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The Blue Route


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March 30, 2017



Once I loved my country Was filled up with pride That was before my country Suddenly fell over and died. It didn’t die spontaneously, My country was assassinated. Murdered by people who Lied, cheated and hated. The accomplices were folks Who stayed home and blamed And insisted that both parties Were essentially the same. Those

I Remember

  I remember so much But how much of it was true. I remember being much bigger And the house I lived in was too. I remember how deep the voices Of the adults living around me. I recall them as basso profundo, Not high, nasal and twangy. I remember people said things Like “God


  You people who say “There aren’t any gays In my race or church!” You’re so wrong, I say. You’re so wrong It will be hard to get back To right, you know, Where you went off track. You people who say There are no gays In our holy country You’re wrong too, I say.

Sucker Punch

The land of the free The huddled masses Salute the flag and Raise your glasses. Just going along fine; You never had a hunch And then America gives A sneaky sucker punch. With malice toward none The land of equality Everyone the same Just like you and me, Unless he is black Or some other

Republican Credo

WishyWashington D.C., you see, consistently. They flip and they flop And they never seem to stop Unless we are talking about blacks Then they never take anything back. They want our wonderful free nation To turn back into a great big plantation Where the only people who have rights Are the wealthiest of all of

The F Word

  I’m the Caucasian black guy Crying out for equal rights. I’m the white-faced coolie You murdered in the night So you didn’t have to pay His salary on the railroad. I’m the unrelated relative Of Faulkner’s Tom Joad. I’m the underappreciated The butt of many quips. I’ve known the well of bitterness And have

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