Jim Crow wore a wide-brimmed, dust colored hat
as he rocked back and forth on a hot summer porch
When he saw the Feds coming, forcing his kids to
mix with blacks in Little Rock,
he aimed his rifle but did not shoot
Instead, he donned white in the night and had himself a hoot
II.
Years later, his son watched bodegas ‘deluge’ his town
while sharia threatened to become law of the land
“Where are ye, my white brothers?” he bellowed into the forlorn night
No one answered – they were working double shifts at Walmart
On the Internet, he penned manifestos that spoke of a flood of the black, brown and hijab
He, as Noah, would build a ship and save everyone
But no one was listening, at least not enough, he thought
He needed to make a mark, make a real difference
So he grabbed his automatic rifle and set off for deliverance
III.
The dead at the Little Rock unitarian church numbered in the
dozens, mostly children, white and brown.
The cops came, hovered but fired not a shot
From his prison cell, he reckoned he made his point,
he would not let the flood tear white America down