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Mar 142012
 

by Kenneth Olembo

 

I have always liked,

Defiant Africans,

Nelson, Patrice, Kenyatta,

 

Martin Luther King,

Groovy black men,

 

Niggers with attitude,

But they intimidate me,

 

Black men.

Freedom fighters,

 

Bar room brawlers,

And I rise from sleep,

 

Sheened in sweat,

Running away,

 

Scribbling my number,

On scraps of paper,

 

On foreheads and trousers,

On outstretched palms,

 

And I’m breathing heavily,

Feeling stained,

 

Because,

That one there,

 

The white man in Navy uniform,

With hair on his balls,

 

I know him,

 

-conquistador-

 

He smells of garlic and grease,

And my black friends call me,

Nigger, whore, bitch.

 

Will he take the lion tooth offered,

Will he make the tribal dance?

 

-I can teach him to love the earth,

Teach him to plant his feet in, deep-

 

I masturbate from sleep, supported

By thick, colonial, muscle.

 

I am forging steel,

Industrial iron,

 

I am engineering a white lover

Beneath the sheets, whilst

 

Apologizing to freedom fighters,

Who call me nigger, whore, bitch.