Winter 2017 — THE POTOMAC

"My African American"

Matt Alexander

My African–American was strong like an ox
My African–American was a military guy, love our veterans
My African–American could crush a kid like King Kong
But my African–American was so gentle with kids

What a beautiful, majestic creature
You wouldn't have believed it
You had to see that rich mahogany melanin; touch it, too, smooth like silk;
Smell the Serengeti on its breath; experience the formidable presence of my African–American

To gaze upon those hands, those biceps, huge in every way and I mean every
It was a powerful thing
To behold a beast like that
In action; I don't think I could've picked one better

My African–American knew its place, too
Never dressed up as Commander–in–Chief
Which is more than I can say for some people's African–Americans
Mine had some humility

My humble, regal African–American
Probably descended from a line of African kings
Where it got its fierce bravery and loyalty from
The athleticism was unreal, to watch it move like a graceful gazelle, its stamina prodigious

If it wanted to, if I wanted it to
My African–American could have crushed a child's skull like a saltine
But it would never have done that
Unless I commanded it, so well–trained, knew the meaning of sit, stay, and heel—very smart

Although in this case
As sad as it was, terrible as it was
I think it was the right decision, they had to do it
It needed to be taken out; no one's sadder to see it go, oh, how I loved my African–American

I'll never forgive the zoo keeper, though, that let the child fall in there to begin with
I heard it was Mexican, therefore should really have recused itself, that government worker
As Ronnie said, When have you ever been glad the government was here to help?
Congressmen and senators and that supposedly honest president—an honest lawyer, ha!—

Who could say whether he told the truth? Some people question, all I'm saying is where
Is the birth certificate? Who all conspired to amend that already pristine document
For the 13th time, sick! Such an unlucky number; that's what it was, a conspiracy
To take my African–American away from me

My African–American would never disobey me, was so well–behaved, had the self–restraint of a Person almost, 60% or thereabouts, a little less maybe
In this case, though, it was the right decision–tough–to take
It out

It it

If it was my kid I'd have wanted it done, no doubt, terrible as it was to watch a creature like that Fall
Here, my woman, resplendent thing in its own right, has something to say about it; go ahead, Doll


Top | Home / Mailing List / Contact
All materials, text, images 2006 - 2016 The Potomac. All rights reserved.