Banal

I am certain I’m supposed to be
something else — no idea what —

just something not so
banal

as a fifty four year old man
who looks white and therefore

for most observers
that’s all that counts

when in fact I grew up
shredded by a war between

my original parts
yet

I would never deny how much
I’ve been privileged by

looking right and male and white
and all the extra special entitled

treatment that attaches to that but
what I mean to say is

I’ve always felt so let down
because I’m not so obviously

other when inside it’s
all I think about most of the time and

what a relief it might have been to have
the misery right in my face

You’ll tell me I’m crazy
for saying that but

slots suck when you don’t fit them
except I sorta do at least to

the making eye of all who see me
To them I’m merely a common sort of hypocrite

of a certain age and visual
Take a look at the optics

Rest assured I do know I’m supposed to roll over
and die in a comfort  I’ve never really known

That’s certainly a banality
to be infected with

such all American confusion
You think I’m

you think I’m
you think I’m

just another Cherokee grandson
stuck in a shitty common myth looking for

some validation
some agreement that I might know

a little something worth knowing
when truth is I don’t know

anything for certain other than
the war at home was ugly and

war is hell long after it ends
it hasn’t ended yet

Looking at how you
are looking at me

it doesn’t look like
it ever will