Hate Being Right

2016:

Pattern recognition,

Look, look! I said,

I saw the signs.

I know my histories, 

Histories that pump with both guilt, and defiant survival in my mulatto veins

Histories of Europe, of Africa, of brave new worlds of US,

Of capitalism and conquest,

Doctrine of discovery

Of colonization,

And enslavement,

And subjugation, 

And decimation,

Of erasure,

Of cruelty of the most egregious kind, 

The kind too sick to even imagine.

Only, I asked you to imagine it, 

to 

connect 

the 

dots,

To try to

Stop it!

–But I 

was “crazy”,

But I 

was “unwell”

…2026:

But I saw true,

Just maybe it took a little 

longer 

than foretold, 

But, here we are.

Distraught and livid,

 I’m still in it,

Just changed, 

Still trying to plan how to just be;

Survive,

And to help pull us, 

minister us through hell. 

I knew too much, 

Too soon,

Ahead of the times.

But, maybe for once the historians, the oracles, the crazies just needed the mic in the room,

To have kept us from this present doom.

And now the black truck wagons I saw circle,

In this Apocalypse of our own making,

it burns my tongue not to mention it,

And I don’t

(It is of no use now)

There’s No satisfaction in this “I told you so”

But, God damnit, 

I hate having been right.