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I feel cold yet
The very wind seems heated.
I'm out of place round here where weather never gets defeated.
With my stiff neck
I let my pride ride like sick bet,
The odds not in my favor but I'm not clipped yet.
Still its obvious I'm out of place,
Interloping by age, creed, background, and race.
Just the same I struggle to feel their hate,
Beneath Southern Hospitality like muslin lace.
But its plain in the eyes of the people I meet,
Of the old white male variety at least
Juxtaposed with the prose so sweet
To the tourists who gawk at them like circus freaks.
Still,
Cash Rules Everything Around Me
So they grin and bear/bare it,
Escheuw the stick for the carrot,
Lips spit script like a parrot
But the true thoughts they never share it,
Because that's not what we payed for
Stood in line to wait for
We came to get the quick taste,
We don't really want the flavor.
But a quick stop at a nondescript convenience store,
Suggests so much more -
Than centuries-old houses and battle reenactments,
Like how the flag of a dead country still garners such attachment,
And how beer seems to be everywhere while hard liquor's absent,
Or how a few hundred miles gave rise to such a thick accent.
Its just so hard to conversate
About the different ways we cogitate
Although I've been none to talk from late until its late again.
Since we think so differently,
I don't know where to begin.
But do you really feel black snakes in white daises to be a sin?
If so, is their exception made for me, a black man with white skin?
After all I'm not trying to end up Strange Fruit,
Swinging from a limb...