SOUTHERN LEGITIMACY STATEMENT: I grew up crossing the Mississippi River each weekend to go four-wheeling, fishing, and running around barefoot. From Quincy, Illinois, to Maywood, Missouri, my dad and I would return to his country roots. I’d watch dad and his family clean fish and slaughter chickens. I’d hunt mushrooms, pick up snakes, and shoot my BB gun, and wouldn’t trade it for nothin.
Coloring
Black is spelled
B.L.A.C.K.
and white is spelled
W.H.I.T.E.
Five letters for each
word, but not a single
letter shared.
Each is unique I guess.
Isn’t it funny how
some people make such
a big deal about color
when it comes to people.
And do you know
What I remember from
elementary art class?
That black isn’t
even a color.
And neither is white.
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Mighty Mississippi
I was just a poor boy from the east side of
the mighty Mississippi on the bluff known
as Quincy, Illinois, crossing the river to
hunt and fish, and
pick mushrooms, and
ride my four wheeler until
my dad accidentally killed himself and
then I was just a fatherless poor boy from
the east side of the Mississippi who didn’t
cross the muddy river no more
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