My father just says ****** whenever he means Black and laughs when I tell him you’re one too. I invoke the name of Amadou to stir his foreign blood but he thinks history is a lie, like inheritance is choice. Before the Germans rejected his asylum, he rode his bike on The Autobahn by mistake. The radio said there was a ****** on the loose. His friend heard the news and rattled on about a ***** who wanted to die. My father laughed: That wasn’t no ****** on the road, it was me. It was your friend and I was on my way to you.