“I knew my deepest dread had not been of getting robbed or even shot. I’d been afraid of blackness itself.” Nik Cohn, Tricksta

Haunted by the trickle of the blood,

the tears that coursed along the skin –

the scenes I watched in horror as I flew –

I never felt as white as I feel now.

Around me sit black men and women:

descendants all of men and women

bound and shackled on the ships,

bought and sold five hundred yards from here.

How deep the rage must run, how much I’d hate

the pallid man sat here.

How vile the colours of his skin,

how smooth and smart the darkness of their cheeks.

There is no end to this, no change is gonna come:

there’s war and more. And even Dan Penn voted

for the blotchy pig, the vicious troll who sports

the honeycomb that’s spun of lies.

Get out! Get out!

For even in our blandishments,

our Jazz Age negrophilia,

we’re rotten to the core.

Charlestown, Nevis, January 2019