
What the fuck have we been doing?
Is it Christian to judge and condemn,
Let alone harbor racial hatred—
Let alone thinking yourselves God—
Is your imagination deluding you?
Are you envisioning a royal welcome?—
Masquerades end at the witching hour.
Believe!—it took only fifty-one years!
Only fifty-one, you motherfuckers—
Evil blocking the light entrance because
Negroes—as you slurred them—“don’t belong.”
POET’S NOTE:
An acrostic Scorched Sunday poem. Part of my Scorched Strays collection.
This poem draws inspiration from a history too easily softened by the passage of time. It considers what happens when Christian faith is used to guard exclusion rather than confront it, and when those once told they did not belong refuse to let hatred have the final word.
© 2026 Tristan Robert Lange. All rights reserved.

Tomorrow, Macabre Monday
Devilishly Dreadful
The Boy Detective; or,
The Crimes of the Collective
Monday, October 5, 2026
© 2026 Tristan Robert Lange. All rights reserved.


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