|What’s your favorite color?|
It’s a legitimate question.
eyes shifted back
and forth in the classic pendulum of guilt.
I’m the only kid in class who has enough balls to raise his hand.
A phlegm-less cough,
respecting the boundaries of his peers,
the etiquette in all coloring books;
except, when the red pens are drawn: they’re claustrophobic.
We left the caps on all the red writing utensils
out of respect;
until melanated ink rains diesel fuel,
and everyone’s hands were colored,
then we asked for a search warrant.
Points for your fantasy team
whipped white tally’s on the black board
forcing the traditional team logo to scrunch its face up
to look like a zebra:
a byproduct manufactured
in the American Snack factory of oppression, I answered
waiving a green dollar bill
Grounded in these assigned seats
with the gum underneath the table
for wearing green
because all reggae songs sound the fucking same!
My answer was practically weightless, yet simple:
nobody gets hurt,
During hunting season
I keep my culture in a holster.
When animal lovers encroach on this blood-line,
we play the longest game of hide and seek
your continent could imagine.
And when they found me,
I hadn’t had a job
since the last slave trade.
But unemployment sucks,
I need a job,
and they ask me this in my job interview.