I stare up into the dark granite face of the cop
A river of white roils around his horse’s flanks
Grown folks hang over barricades, shouting down
The hooded red-faced men lapping at 20th Street’s banks
We trail mama and daddy back to the parking deck
Past air-conditioned skyscrapers, so proud and just
Ladies in hats gather the slanting shade of the confederate obelisk
Dudes in fades, girls in braids, voices hoarse, search for the bus

I can change!
I can change!

The scraggly men smoked cigarettes and scowled
Salted in sheetrock dust
The wind whipping their long hair across the rebel flag
Airbrushed on the rear window of the truck
I muttered something to you about white trash
In the frontseat, Granddaddy's easy drawl sharpened into nails
He clapped his cracked red hand onto my doughy leg:
He said, "Son, you aren't any better than anybody else."

I can change!
I can change!

It was like taking a breath
When I admitted that:
Guilt is not a feeling;
It's a natural fact
I can change!
I can change!
I can change!
I can change!

Get loose!

I can change!
I can change!

It was like taking a breath
When I admitted that:
Guilt is not a feeling;
It's a natural fact