It's not your fight

I came off the plane with joy in my heart and hope in my hands

I fell on my knees in the sand and saw fit not to judge but to observe

I saw black and white

White and black

I saw wrong and right

And I turned

My white Anglo-Saxon guilt into piety

And I preached

Over the years I learned nothing

I suffered needlessly in an attempt to assimilate and only

Became one man alone on a rock

An island of insecurity

A priest in a church of self-pity

Others moved on and left me to fend for myself

“He’s white, he’s rich.”

“He’ll be fine.”

Whole years went by as I slept with black women and drank white wine

But still I learned nothing

“I am African now” I would think out loud

I learned Setswana and I felt proud

“Go home” people said as they watched me grieve

For a land I pretend is not home

The land I had to leave

“It’s not your fight.”