Scribbles ‘n’ Snaps

It must have seemed good sense to drain the swamps,
The marshes, sloughs, and other secret places.
For surely they appeared to be land wasted
On snakes, sawgrass, and other useless things.

They would have missed the wonders hidden there,
The rich detritus feeding tiny creatures
Who became meals themselves to feed the larger
Creatures who were surely of no value.

How would they know the secrets of the wetlands?
Why, even if the people there had told them
What did they know, those bands of ragged stragglers,
All fugitives, and ignorant of progress?

Thus, everglades and swamps made way for suburbs,
canals, toll roads and malls, airports and farmland.
Now all must vie for water become precious
Where once it seemed that it was beyond plenty.

Professors prowl remains of once great systems,
Describing remnants in scholastic volumes,
While Seminoles and Miccosukees fatten
Off gambling, booze and cigarettes for tourists.

Ah, sweet, subtle revenge.

It isn’t easy bein’ black
And that is just a natural fact.
‘Cause blackness makes you stand right out.
In any crowd there’ll be a shout
“There’s one!” and then you’re chased, no doubt.

Why, you would think that we was cursed
Back in th’ Garden, given first
Blackness, so some of the others
‘Stead of treatin’ us as brothers
Would kill us if they had their druthers.

An’ then there’s all them other folks
Callin’ names, and makin’ jokes
Claimin’ that we’re baby eaters,
Common thieves, communal breeders
An’ them gray ones is th’ leaders

Chasin’ us from place to place
Never givin’ us no space
And claimin’ that it’s justified
By “public safety.” Why they’ve tried
To claim it’s ’cause they’ve got “Gray Pride!”

Well, sure, there’s others that they hunt
But it’s us blacks as get the brunt.
It seems we’ve got some special place
Inside th’ hate glands of that race.
Ain’t no way they’ll give up the chase.

I hear some want to stop the talk,
(It’s usually some redneck hawk)
And end it with a big todo
That settles things, and yet it’s true
They’re quicker’n us, and meaner, too!

I can’t see any end to it.
Th’ blacks and grays will never fit
This world in peace. There’ll always be
Th’ ones who chase, and them that flee –
Th’ Mockin’birds, and Crows like me.