Mister Miser

Good morning Mister Miser. Are you here to take both the Good and the Morning from me? Strip me of my dignity and order me to walk bare-foot and blood-covered with a bag over my head, breathing in my own previously-inhaled air. And my hands behind my back, tie there with the same cruelty as you had when you stuffed my head into the bag. That way the Good becomes Bad and the Morning means nothing anymore as the heavy material in front of my eyes makes me blind. I hear the laughter, sure, but I don’t see anybody so I can ignore it. You might think you’re taking my dignity from me, Mister Miser, but you’re not. Inside the dark sack I smile and my white teeth are whiter than yours. I don’t know why you hide my face – perhaps so all you white boys don’t have to see my white teeth shine brighter than yours. But I’ll tell you something. Your souls are black, far blacker than my skin could ever be.

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