I Don’t Belong Here
Cheryl Lynn Moyer
Drunk on home-grown whiskey mash and hate
He spat in my face, “You don’t belong here”
From thin quivering white lips and bulging red eyes
He waved his loaded revolver directly at my head
Testing the length and breath of my resolve
Sadly - I consoled him with the truth
You have nothing to fear
When they finally receive their government checks
They will be forced to deposit them in white-owned banks
Once the funds clear, they will spend it on
Cars from white-owned dealerships
Clothing, appliances, furniture, groceries, and construction materials
All from white-owned businesses
Then they’ll be back to struggling for survival again
With all that sweet government money
In your accounts, not theirs
He slowly smiled with rotting teeth and lowered the gun
He offered me a nice job, if I wanted to stay around awhile
I thanked him but said no, he was right the first time
I don’t belong here
