Devonne Brown

Painting: Richard Burlet

No. Not a happy face. There’s nothing about me that’s happy. Those horns just sprouted because of you. I have a lot to say about it. Do you have any intention of listening today or ever?

Who are you? You seem to have me all figured out, sir. You know when I can have this treatment or that one. You know best because it says so on my insurance card. It says so on the wall right here, on the rules, right here, on the policies, in the statues contrived under the bellies flexed at the gym. You know the best time for my mammogram, right?

You better use that privilege while you can before it bites your grown white ass. In the meantime, watch your back. You’ve angered the women, the horns are showing, and you’re in trouble. Quiet. They’ll come at you with a lullaby and you won’t have seen it happen. Is that what you’re afraid of? 

At least you recognize it now.

Did you hang the Commandments and not the Beatitudes because the violence of  the “Thou shalt nots” can be commercialized in a paintball or a video game? They’re much more fun than the gentle, “Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the Earth.” The meek can’t play paintball worth a damn, and look like sorry losers every time.

I’m sick of power happy men going into classrooms where they don’t belong. Kids ask what teachers think about these things, teachers have to be wary of their answers. Kids hear the strangest things.