Quinton Graves








Here stands Quinton Graves
My client of North Carolina
In the air, Metallica’s Slither
Here I come, another brood of slaves

It’s a deep night, It’s 3 o’oclock
He climbs and confirms he is alone
He seems to be a big-mouthed one
He talks a lot

We leave St Chris in a good mood
And immediately
He stuns me with his childhood
Then Liberia and our token, slavery

We derivate and land on Afrika Korps
While cruising to De Gaulle’s airport
The streets are empty of racism
Our minds, full of criticism

Two niggers of two different worlds
Can only become homies on these words
Within an instant, we enter the terminal
He grabs his bags and gives me a tip

Then, he reveals the aim of his trip
A part of my ancestors are French
I just found It. Was such a blow, man.
I came here to fill the gaps, to quench

My doubts. A week ago
I despised all the whites
Should I continue to hate myself ?
I don’t know what to say to my wive

I just stood in front of him, open-mouthed
Like a question mark
Well, … For me, you are still black
He laughed, greeted me warmly, and left

Here goes Quinton, the octoroon
More couponning, more recycling
That’s what he does for living
Hope to see you back soon





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