by Terrance Hayes

    Fred Sanford's on at 12

    & I'm standing¹ in the express lane （cash only）

    about to buy Head & Shoulders

    the white people shampoo， no one knows

    what I am. My name could be Lamont.

    George Clinton wears colors like Toucan² Sam，

    the Froot Loop pelican³. Follow your nose，

    he says. But I have no nose， no mouth，

    so you tell me what's good， what's god，

    what's funky⁴. When I stop

    by McDonalds for a cheeseburger， no one

    suspects what I am. I smile at Ronald's poster，

    perpetual grin behind the pissed-off， fly-girl

    cashier I love. Where are my goddamn fries？

    Ain't I American？ I never say， Niggaz

    in my poems. My ancestors didn't

    emigrate. Why would anyone leave

    their native land？ I'm thinking about shooting

    some hoop⁵ later on. I'll dunk on everyone

    of those niggaz. They have no idea

    what I am. I might be the next Jordan

    god. They don't know if Toni Morrison

    is a woman or a man. Michael Jackson

    is the biggest name in showbiz. Mamma se

    Mamma sa mamma ku sa， sang the Bushmen

    in Africa. I'll buy a dimebag after the game，

    me & Jody. He says， Fuck them white people

    at work， Man. He was an All-American

    in high school. He's cool， but he don't know

    what I am， & so what. Fred Sanford's on

    in a few & I got the dandruff-free head

    & shoulders of white people & a cheeseburger

    belly⁶ & a Thriller⁷ CD & Nike high tops

    & slavery's dead & the TV's my daddy——

    You big Dummy⁸！

    Fred tells Lamont.

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