God and SIRU are Dead (Antithesis)

God and SIRU are Dead (Antithesis)


I get on the bus at the charter school,

The 6 is full of Newark's brightest and best,

In the aisle there is an obstinate fool,

Who won't move back, who with tact is not blessed.


The driver should do his job, he does not,

A rider near me asks the fool to move,

The fool says you're lucky not to get shot,

This space belongs to me, it is my groove.


The fool's from Africa, fresh off the boat,

The asker, too, but many years ago,

The charter kids, too.  They are taking note,

Me, too.  But how long back?  I do not know.


Can we make America great again?

All of us African women and men. 

 

 

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