The Saints Beat the Colts in the Betrayal of Malcolm X
by Sabrina Dawkins
The Colts play basketball on Sunday
in royal blue
or sit in church, praying it ends early
so they can rush home to watch football.
I heard that one said a Catholic prayer
before tip-off.
Did he pray to pale Mary?
Muhammad Ali was tackled by a Saint
as he stood up, pointing a gun at Malcolm
at the Last Supper.
He wasn’t killed,
but that tackle had to have crippled him.
Sometimes long life is a curse.
The Colts can be found
defending immoral men
with all their strength,
squinted eyes,
a wrinkled forehead dripping with sweat
and marked by a beast.
Left in the wilderness
with Elijah Muhammad,
their timid messiah,
his most rabid defenders,
after light was shined on his crimes,
will be waiting indefinitely to find
the promised land,
and with all betrayers
of honest men,
like a fool who died on April Fools’
reinventing Malcolm.
The broken-like-a-horse slaves to sin,
mocked in Django Unchained
for the slavery they’re still in,
were defeated by the black and gold
who “loved not their lives unto the death.” (Revelation 12:11)
The Colts wanted diamond earrings,
fast food, trips to the movies,
name brand shoes,
makeup, horse hair, gold,
alcohol, private planes, expensive cars.
What’s a soul?
So Avon drew a black check on their foreheads
and Nike branded them
with their pricey Swoosh
as livestock wage slaves.
That broken blue horseshoe
is a stranger to God
but a friend to inanimate things
like bats and balls.
So the only way to get their attention
is to reach them through sports:
The Saints won the Super Bowl.
The Colts have lost already.
Their gladiators of bread and circuses
won’t replace saints at the Last Supper.
“Do ye not know that the saints shall judge the world?” (1 Corinthians 6:2)