Twice told
I was to die
By violent hand of races
Not my own,
I ran from one,
Laughed at the other.
The Makah nation
Squeezed upon a dry reservation
Saw blood spill
And bone break of
Drunken mishap and malice.
Chill was my blood
Of random midnight calls
And the deep drunk whisper
I will **** you,
A rant
I will **** you,
I knew true one day,
One day.
And so I fled.
Two extra decades in my bones,
Out the door of the V.I. tavern
Lookout on the world.
Swerves young black
Sideways cross the crosswalk
Slams me silly.
I turn and step and push
Him into a snarled threat:
I’ll get my gun and **** you.
I spit laughter in his face.
Two absolutely true stories.
