Nobody knew I was colored.  At Pencey Prep
I mean.  Nobody knew.  Seriously, my hair—
which my mother called muddy-blonde—
was almost straight.  It really was.
And when that hard curl started creeping
I’d cut it quick so there’d be no hint
of the negro in me.

It wasn’t that I minded being half and half.
I didn’t. Not at all—I mean, colored people
make music a thousand times more danceable.
My pop, a corny white guy, is always trying
to play the blues.  Such a phony: bobbing
his head, praying over the keys like he’s
Pinetop Perkins or something, but

he’s such a racist.  He really is.  The reason
he wouldn’t marry my mother, see
the reason was: he didn’t want to live
“in some colored neighborhood.” He wanted
“respectable society”.  Such an ass.
You can’t believe people sometimes.
You really can’t.  Even if you’re related,
they can be pretty damn disappointing.

And Pencey, of course, at Pencey
I kept pretty quiet. Of course, I woulda
got thrown out if anybody got wind of me
being half-Negro, but if you really looked—
at my lips, I mean, and my nose—
you could tell something was going on
with my heritage.

Once I brought up Billie Holiday and
Count Basie and this kid (I think it was
Ackley) said, “What’s with the jungle music—
Some nigger in your woodshed?”
I almost punched him in the mouth,
but I’m such a coward.  I just walked away
whistling “Strange Fruit” really loud.

My whole life was make-believe.
Goddam private schools.  I wanted to say
I am a Negro, you dumbass,
but I never did.  I swear my whole life
has been hide and seek.  Such a lie!
Passing. For white, I mean. Really
insane: the whole race thing.

Even going to church every Sunday:
all the “love thy neighbor” crap.
They’re all smiley-faced, hand-shakin’,
half-ass phonies. And me too—and
maybe the whole country. God bless
this, that, and the other. And look:
us colored folks get hell kicked out of us!
That’s why I’m an atheist. I really am.

So, I don’t have many friends
except maybe my kid sister, Phoebe.
She kills me. She tells people
she’s colored all the time,
but nobody believes her. That’s the thing
about people. They never believe you.
They really don’t. And nobody thinks
about anything. Even if you ask’em
a pretty general question—like Why?
Why any of this? They won’t answer.
They won’t even try.