by Louis Maraj
I’m a monkey to you: joke, juggler, clown,
three races as they walk into a bar.
“Has anyone told you that you look, sound,
like Barack Obama?” Yes. My ears are
large. My skin’s brown. Yes. I articulate
the slight academic jargon you like.
D’you like me to dance, twerk, dougie my skit
on out your white community? My bright
gold teeth skinned, jeweled dental treasure chest?
We sit. The black asks ayo what’s goin’ down?
The brown thinks how do I best word this mess,
an always already terrorist? Found
gut warns bite down tongue. Anger’s insistence
tastes good. Chew the cud of most resistance.