Race Card
You ask indignantly, why must I go there —
mucking around ... bumping up the sound
You say I’m just trying to be a troublemaker,
and you place a sure bet
that trouble is all I’m gonna get
If I keep playing the race card,
playing the race card
Keep using the black spade,
digging up dirt in the legal courtyard
But, I must use the race card,
use that black spade card
Getting to the hidden truth buried deep is hard
What have we got to lose, we were told
It was a hard speech,
` given what my people is owed
We lost everything:
our native home,
our native tongue
Our God-given name
Whited bones of human degradation
lay in this cemetery of history
Beneath that rotting soil,
somewhere lay my stolen heritage
For truth’s sake, I must know where it’s hid
So I went and searched —
Behind a plantation house of cards,
buried beneath the slave quarters ...
my race to the truth has led me there
Why must I go there?
If you were holding the same
losing, marked card I’ve held,
would you then care?
Copyright © Freddie Robinson Jr. | Year Posted 2017
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