Anniston, Alabama—July 15, 1965
Strange rides shotgun,
“Satisfaction” blaring,
now number one, though
all he hears is Reverend Lynch
on the courthouse lawn:
If it takes killing to get the Negroes
out of the white man’s streets,
I say kill them. They’ve got 
a car in their headlights
on John Hardy Hill, 
four black foundrymen
just off the job. Strange leans, 
blasts the windows, then levels
for Willie Brewster’s spine.
Home, Strange crawls
through the thick July night,
smiles We got us a nigger
to the man who gives him up,
stands in court to tell
what he’s heard to give
twelve white men
what they need. Strange 
swings the gun, sighting 
bats that skim the yard 
while Junior Walker chords 
Shoot him ’fore he run now.
A half-laugh passes,
then he wipes his brow.
A dim light shows the LOVE
he’s tattooed on his hand.
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