In the matter of race –
it’s a steeplechase where
we may have jumped a few hurdles,
rounded a few turns,
but still trail the white pack by a few laps.
Maybe we should be grateful,
they let us enter the race?
(Hear my sarcasm here?)
But that ain’t enough now, man.
They wanna dress like us,
look like us, rap like us?
But eat with us? No way.
Ever see the school cafeteria?
Segregated. Whites rows, black rows.
So, please Mrs. Cafeteria Lady,
serve me some greens,
to go along with this gruel
I been eatin’ for years.
Ma’am, I need some mo’ energy
to continue runnin’ this race.
THE POETRY OF THE GAME