Got a Right

. . . and ‘careers’ as cashiers and burger flippers.

Can’t speak for the others, yet,

but

I got a right

to hate

white hands

collecting rent

as oak trees vanish,

four-lane highways

tearing away

at corn fields planted with our sweat.

They dug up

the resting ground

of slaves

who tilled the cotton and indigo;

then put up a condominium

(the new ‘big house’)

where we grapple

with their soiled floors

and

dirty underwear.