I Am Not A Racist But
© Surazeus
2018 07 31
Taking a break outside the machine shop,
Vernon lights up long cigarette and puffs,
blowing smoke into the afternoon sky
where clouds drift like horses on a vast field.
"I am not a racist but most black people
I have met would rather get state welfare
than work a hard job like the rest of us,
and most of them I know smoke crack cocaine."
Squinting at him through the harsh sunlight glare,
Michael crosses his arms and shakes his head.
"My sister married a brilliant black man
who runs a large construction company
that employs sixty-five construction workers
building First National Bank on Pine Street.
This black man has degrees in engineering,
business finance, and project management,
because his father who drove garbage trucks
saved thousands of dollars for forty years.
They have three children now attending college,
studying chemistry, biology, and math."
Flicking burned-out cigarette in the dust,
Vernon wipes off his forehead and sneers.
"You must be one of those socialist libtards
who supports a big government nanny state.
I bet most of the workers he employs
are illegal immigrants from Mexico
who sneak across our borders, take our jobs,
and send the cash back to their families."
Shaking his head astonished, Michael smirks.
"Not one person he employs is illegal,
and he makes sure they are all union members.
He gives them all medical benefits,
gives them bonuses after every job,
and gives them raises to match cost of living."
Snorting in derision, Vernon returns
to work making new tools at his workbench,
then clocks out at the end of the work day
and drives toward home in his red pickup truck.
While country music plays on the radio
Vernon glares at the black construction workers
who are building the new bank on Pine Street,
and flips them off, though no one sees his gesture.
Turning southward over the railroad track,
Vernon guns the engine to kick up dust,
then roars down the highway to his small farm
where black thundercloud billows in the sky.
Lightning flashes as torrents of rain fall,
drenching fields of cows in streams of blue water,
and small hail bangs against his metal truck
as he steers with tense hands through gusting winds.
Approaching the small river near his house,
Vernon peers through streaming splatters of rain
that blind him in sudden darkness of gloom
as he guns truck engine to cross the bridge.
His large red pickup truck lurches sideways
when large fallen trees smash into the bridge,
and gush of water surging in swift flood
swirls under his truck in large pounding waves.
Submerged half under tides of the flash flood,
Vernon ducks when tree branch smashes right window,
so he pushes open back window panels
and climbs out the back to escape the flood.
Clinging to the back of his pickup truck,
Vernon looks around for way to escape,
hoping to leap off the truck to hard ground
before gushing waves carry it away.
Through thundering rain he hears people shout,
so he turns to see three black men in rain
who throw a long strong rope for him to catch,
so he grips it tight as it flies through the wind.
Pulling on the rope through the blinding rain,
Vernon sees it bound to strong hook and chain,
so he clamps the hook on the cabin bar,
then hangs on tight while the men shift gears.
Driving backward on the loose gravel road,
the three black men spin tires to haul his truck
backward off broken bridge to solid ground,
slowly heaving it free from the tree branch.
The stubborn tree branch grips side of his truck,
so it strains tight creaking in wild wet wind
as they gun their engine louder through rain
till the branch snaps and his truck lurches free.
Pulling his truck quickly off the cracked bridge,
the three black men drive backward down the road
till he is safe, far from the gushing stream
that wrenches the bridge off strong cement piles.
Gripping the truck, Vernon stares through fierce rain
as the gushing river shatters the bridge,
smashing it into twisted metal beams,
and imagines if his truck was still there.
Running up through the rain, the tree black men
pause below his truck and stare at his face,
so Vernon jumps down onto trembling legs
and laughs as he hugs them with thankful joy.
"I would have drowned in the flood of despair
if you had not pulled me out of that jam."
Grinning with delight that he is all right,
they shout through rain for him to follow them,
so he drives behind their truck in wild rain
to the music bar where they troop inside.
Sitting together at the table booth,
Vernon and the three black men all shake hands,
then order beer and burgers for a feast
and laugh as they dry their heads with white towels.
Drinking beer and devouring burgers and fries,
they talk about his rescue from the river,
then exchange names as they shake hands as friends,
Vernon, Robert, Peter, and Alistair.
Gazing at their faces smiling with joy,
Vernon shakes his head and frowns as he sighs.
"I have been a mean racist all my life,
always saying evil things about your people.
I could try to excuse my bad behavior
by explaining how my father was racist,
always telling me your people were lazy,
but when I got older I should have learned.
I would always repeat the stereotypes
I heard other people say about you,
but in the real world I have never met
any black people who were on welfare.
You risked your lives to save my racist ass
so I declare we are friends forever.
Though I will always help you when you ask,
and I will help any black man I meet
who needs help because you are human beings,
struggling together in this world to live,
I should have treated you all with respect
long before you pulled me out of that jam.
Your selfless act of love opens my eyes
to see you as human when I was blind,
but I should have always seen you as human,
and treated you well with equal respect.
It should not take you saving my fool ass
for me to know I should always help you.
I hope you forgive me for being a fool,
and treat me better than I treated you."
Placing hand on his shoulder, Robert grins.
"That is all we want to hear from your heart,
that you will treat us with equal respect
because you know it is the right thing to do.
Although too many movies we have seen
present the Magic Negro as the savior
who helps some white man grow from prejudice,
we can respect that you are trying to change.
The best thing you can do now is to listen
and understand our stories we will tell,
to sympathize with the pain of our suffering,
because movies and shows hide our real stories.
All that aside, we are glad to be friends
as we celebrate your escape from death."
Lifting up their beer mugs, they all four shout,
then drink it down as rain clouds blow away
and the silver moon glows bright in the sky,
shining on their faces as they sing in joy.
© Surazeus
2018 07 31
Taking a break outside the machine shop,
Vernon lights up long cigarette and puffs,
blowing smoke into the afternoon sky
where clouds drift like horses on a vast field.
"I am not a racist but most black people
I have met would rather get state welfare
than work a hard job like the rest of us,
and most of them I know smoke crack cocaine."
Squinting at him through the harsh sunlight glare,
Michael crosses his arms and shakes his head.
"My sister married a brilliant black man
who runs a large construction company
that employs sixty-five construction workers
building First National Bank on Pine Street.
This black man has degrees in engineering,
business finance, and project management,
because his father who drove garbage trucks
saved thousands of dollars for forty years.
They have three children now attending college,
studying chemistry, biology, and math."
Flicking burned-out cigarette in the dust,
Vernon wipes off his forehead and sneers.
"You must be one of those socialist libtards
who supports a big government nanny state.
I bet most of the workers he employs
are illegal immigrants from Mexico
who sneak across our borders, take our jobs,
and send the cash back to their families."
Shaking his head astonished, Michael smirks.
"Not one person he employs is illegal,
and he makes sure they are all union members.
He gives them all medical benefits,
gives them bonuses after every job,
and gives them raises to match cost of living."
Snorting in derision, Vernon returns
to work making new tools at his workbench,
then clocks out at the end of the work day
and drives toward home in his red pickup truck.
While country music plays on the radio
Vernon glares at the black construction workers
who are building the new bank on Pine Street,
and flips them off, though no one sees his gesture.
Turning southward over the railroad track,
Vernon guns the engine to kick up dust,
then roars down the highway to his small farm
where black thundercloud billows in the sky.
Lightning flashes as torrents of rain fall,
drenching fields of cows in streams of blue water,
and small hail bangs against his metal truck
as he steers with tense hands through gusting winds.
Approaching the small river near his house,
Vernon peers through streaming splatters of rain
that blind him in sudden darkness of gloom
as he guns truck engine to cross the bridge.
His large red pickup truck lurches sideways
when large fallen trees smash into the bridge,
and gush of water surging in swift flood
swirls under his truck in large pounding waves.
Submerged half under tides of the flash flood,
Vernon ducks when tree branch smashes right window,
so he pushes open back window panels
and climbs out the back to escape the flood.
Clinging to the back of his pickup truck,
Vernon looks around for way to escape,
hoping to leap off the truck to hard ground
before gushing waves carry it away.
Through thundering rain he hears people shout,
so he turns to see three black men in rain
who throw a long strong rope for him to catch,
so he grips it tight as it flies through the wind.
Pulling on the rope through the blinding rain,
Vernon sees it bound to strong hook and chain,
so he clamps the hook on the cabin bar,
then hangs on tight while the men shift gears.
Driving backward on the loose gravel road,
the three black men spin tires to haul his truck
backward off broken bridge to solid ground,
slowly heaving it free from the tree branch.
The stubborn tree branch grips side of his truck,
so it strains tight creaking in wild wet wind
as they gun their engine louder through rain
till the branch snaps and his truck lurches free.
Pulling his truck quickly off the cracked bridge,
the three black men drive backward down the road
till he is safe, far from the gushing stream
that wrenches the bridge off strong cement piles.
Gripping the truck, Vernon stares through fierce rain
as the gushing river shatters the bridge,
smashing it into twisted metal beams,
and imagines if his truck was still there.
Running up through the rain, the tree black men
pause below his truck and stare at his face,
so Vernon jumps down onto trembling legs
and laughs as he hugs them with thankful joy.
"I would have drowned in the flood of despair
if you had not pulled me out of that jam."
Grinning with delight that he is all right,
they shout through rain for him to follow them,
so he drives behind their truck in wild rain
to the music bar where they troop inside.
Sitting together at the table booth,
Vernon and the three black men all shake hands,
then order beer and burgers for a feast
and laugh as they dry their heads with white towels.
Drinking beer and devouring burgers and fries,
they talk about his rescue from the river,
then exchange names as they shake hands as friends,
Vernon, Robert, Peter, and Alistair.
Gazing at their faces smiling with joy,
Vernon shakes his head and frowns as he sighs.
"I have been a mean racist all my life,
always saying evil things about your people.
I could try to excuse my bad behavior
by explaining how my father was racist,
always telling me your people were lazy,
but when I got older I should have learned.
I would always repeat the stereotypes
I heard other people say about you,
but in the real world I have never met
any black people who were on welfare.
You risked your lives to save my racist ass
so I declare we are friends forever.
Though I will always help you when you ask,
and I will help any black man I meet
who needs help because you are human beings,
struggling together in this world to live,
I should have treated you all with respect
long before you pulled me out of that jam.
Your selfless act of love opens my eyes
to see you as human when I was blind,
but I should have always seen you as human,
and treated you well with equal respect.
It should not take you saving my fool ass
for me to know I should always help you.
I hope you forgive me for being a fool,
and treat me better than I treated you."
Placing hand on his shoulder, Robert grins.
"That is all we want to hear from your heart,
that you will treat us with equal respect
because you know it is the right thing to do.
Although too many movies we have seen
present the Magic Negro as the savior
who helps some white man grow from prejudice,
we can respect that you are trying to change.
The best thing you can do now is to listen
and understand our stories we will tell,
to sympathize with the pain of our suffering,
because movies and shows hide our real stories.
All that aside, we are glad to be friends
as we celebrate your escape from death."
Lifting up their beer mugs, they all four shout,
then drink it down as rain clouds blow away
and the silver moon glows bright in the sky,
shining on their faces as they sing in joy.
No comments:
Post a Comment