Poem: The Black Horde

The black horde was coming and you were afraid
Afraid you pushed and pushed and grunted as you did so
So you held them back long enough to feel the strength in your own arms
Arms that had tried eight times to drown that accursed black kitten

But then the black horde came anyway
Surging into the streets, across the big roads that divided
Them from
Others
Into the towns of the nation
And they came, some chanting, some singing
But all dancing, because that it what black people do
Long black fingers clawed at your throat
Would not stop choking until you stopped pushing
So you sighed and said, 'I surrender'
And showed your hands—although stuffed with money—to prove that you had stopped pushing

And the angry black horde drew back.

Now it is hanging back in shadows as dark as itself
A little smaller now (some of its number has been emancipated) but only a little
Agitated, but only enough to hurt itself
With delicate wrist flicks of knife wielding hands
And angry pressure on triggers meant for the past struggle

Struggle. Past.

I am the black horde come again
No one struggles with me
Or if they do, they hide
And I am the only one among the horde
But even my eyes are averted…inward?

The black horde is waiting again
For another couple of centuries of pushing