Don’t get him wrong,
He loves his white friends.
They should love being white.
He only gets pissed,
when having it all ain’t enough,
when they think they’re the victims—not his kind.
Accentless he speaks.
A pleasant white noise
but never, quite, white, enough.
Assimilated, vacillating—
in limbo ‘tween cultures,
branded Americano by the Mexicano but not fully a Gringo.
Affirming his perception that Being Born Brown on, this side,
is a call for rejection.
A whitewashed,
hollow brown shell,
filled with white reverberations
that echo and bounce against tall white walls.
Expediency made it right to be white,
let the chips fall where they did.
No time to prevent a cultural demise.
They pushed and shoved to survive,
like a twelve-pup litter
feeding off a Ten Tit Bitch
