Bigger

Eighty years have expired since "Native Son"
First rained down on library shelves
(Birmingham's excluded),
And in that time,
There have been some improvements,
Through martyrdom, self-sacrifice,
And progressive shamings.
But overall, in a wider context,
Not much has changed.
The human still favors division and furor;
He paints oppositions in lurid colors,
The best way he knows to elicit hate,
And seeks out weaklings in his midst
Upon whom he visits his deputy demons.
How can we turn aside and muzzle
The urge to subdue and kill
That since our wildman days has plagued us?
How, in this age of lightning apprisals,
May we stifle hearsay, dimwittery, and bluff?
For even scholars have their reasons
To distort and lie their way through life;
The middle class is eternally wary;
And the wealthy fear the slimmest concession.
Thus, we continue to forge more Biggers,
And bigots, and brigands in magister-robes;
We bring out new models of tyrants and victims,
And victims turned tyrant, and assembly lines
Of victims to victimize ad infinitum.