lifetsyle

Mr. Africa Poetry Lounge!

Troubadour


I do not like you.
You strut about your ghetto streets
Revering no one, despising yourself;
Your yellow skin, and reddened eyes
Are dull within your yellow face,
And your body is soft.


An unremembered, sorrowful man,
Scarred body and black face
Yearning toward a starry sky,
Sat before a cabin door
And gave his soul to make the songs
You distort to a silly dancing rhythm.
You deny your heritage, put him to shame,
With narrow chest and pimpled skin.


You are mongrel,
Like your songs and your uke.*
There is nothing of beauty in you,
And I do not like you.

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*Uke is short for ukelele.

Written by Virginia Houston

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