My Dad Was in the KKK

he'd sit in front of the television
from six a.m. to eight p.m.
every day eating Rice Kripsies and drink
a twelve pack all by himself
sometimes he'd give me a couple of
beers to drink in my room in
front of my own TV set and
I'd rest the cans on my protruding
belly just like him

and around eight-thirty or so
his old army buddies would come
over and swag another case with
him and play poker and tell
dirty jokes until the
neighbors complained

and sometimes on Saturdays dad
would put on these long
white robes like the preacher's
and a funny tall hat
and order me to keep
the doors and windows securely
locked and not to answer
the phone

he'd come back early
Sunday morning and sleep
until late afternoon oblivious
to the funeral parades
that were forever passing
through the nigger
subdivision in town