Russian I’m not
And Slavic
Not a chance
And yet they ask me
again
perchance
my story changes
Then, stare askance
Parisian I’m not
And Swedish
Fat chance
But then they query
In hopes perchance
I amend my heritage
Thus remain correct
African yes
We do come in white
So pop back your peepers
And get a load of this sight
Grey eyes
White skin
Brown hair
And fair tone
Alas it’s all true
dark eyes
Dark skin
Don’t corner this globe
On African probe
At one point of my life, I hated doing dishes. It was the bane of my existence. I prayed, asked the Lord, begged and cajoled, still hated it with all my heart.
Everett Powers