BACKLASH

Let me curse
into the wind
with tensions thick
and the air too thin,
and
watch them tout,
putting hand
to mouth,
with a turnabout
creating doubt,
trying to
silence a voice
left with no choice,

but to
raise a fist
or kneel
from protest to field,
for a cause that's real,
resolute like steel,

and on the cusp
Knightly ideals
corrode like rust,
and the divide robust
when old wounds
never heal, and
the truth concealed,
and
still they feel
a need to react,
a backlash,
a counterattack,
senseless
repercussions
because a
President was black.