Malcolm X once got into an argument
as to whether they could call
I'm not an American, said Malcolm.
Why do you think you are?
Well, you could put a shoe in an oven,
but that wouldn't make it a biscuit,
I don't have any such choice.
my own New England ancestors
participated in all the decisions
of 100 years ago, 150 years ago.
I had a uncle once who wrote a poem,
I have a rendezvous with death
at midnight in some flaming town.
and made a new verse using it.
At midnight in some flaming angry town
lying torn upon the ground
I ran in and dodged among the crowd
and scooped it up and ran out to safety
striped old piece of cloth
but I found it had been used
and attracted all the flies.
While I was feverishly at my task,
I heard a husky voice that seemed to ask,
but she made a few mistakes.
My blue is good, the color of the sky
The stars are good for ideals oh so high
strong to meet all danger
I need also some stripes of
And some of tan and black, then all around
A border of God's gracious
Maybe you should slant the stripes,
then I'd not be so square
I suggested tampering with old glory
But tonight it's near midnight
and in another flaming town
Once again I hear my country's flag
glides torn upon the ground