I left the Home, a shabby lumbering shack,
Taking only the clothes on my back
And the chime of Symmetrical thoughts,
And walking with Ambitious steps,
Trampling the Dirty paths, and
Pursuing a primmer trim and Brighter paint,
And stream-lined roads, with brilliant
Circus lights atop, orchestrating

During such expeditions to dangerous,
Foreign lands, there would be Company – The
Boys – with Familiar thoughts—
We’d dress the same, drab, and,
Beyond this, our skin was the same
And They’d say We were all the same,
Web Du Bois, Fredrick Douglass, Ida B. Wells—
And every Building the same, no matter what inside

As We marched along, from Our hell
To Their heaven, We observed a peculiar
Transformation—the shops morphed into
Strictly admitted museums, with cantankerous guards,
And Exhibits not to be touched, and a
Window looking toward a whiter, Brighter world.
And We would watch from a darkened outside, at
These lofty, antique Americans—

And after the day, where great,
White clouds stood between us
And the sun, We’d journey back,
Fatigued and Different, to Our Benthic
Depths, only to scuttle out again,
Big-eyed and avid, to these museums
We’d never touch or visit, the thoughts
We’d never think, the words unspoken, and Envy

Many Cloudy days did pass us, with grief,
And candor, and pain, and Silent battles lost—
Alas! Our campaign grew, and Our
Cause found its Head, and a crown
Fitting a King! With Valiant
Men, who’d sit for a King, and
A cause Greater than themselves
We’d defy the museum guards and

The warning signs, and we’d touch, and move,
Those antique Traditions,
We’d move silently and piously, then,
Suddenly, swiftly and cunning as a Panther,
Whilst the clouds stood aside, letting through
The Free rays of day. And, after the museum
Rules were changed, as a group,
We began to talk like Americans, look like Americans
Finally, We began to feel like Americans.