Monday, September 8, 2014

poem of the day 09.08.14

george the racist

george the racist
used to lean against the bar
with his workman clothes
and his vodka and orange juice

he’d guard the door
in case any unknown undesirables
would try to get inside the joint

it took nearly two years for the man
to stop glaring at me

he was a slum lord
who had it in for all minorities

once a black tattoo artist
came in for a beer

you would’ve thought someone
had taken a shit in george’s drink

when he left george the racist
sucked down half of his vodka-orange
then turned up his face like he was crying
to mock the black and mexicans and chinese

oh, poor me, he cried
oh why can’t the government help me

motherfuckers, he grumbled

then he sunk back into his white male privilege
to kill off the other half of his drink

before whipping out a stack of bills
all that rent money given him by his sworn enemies
to buy himself another round
like he was the king of close-minded brooklyn

i didn’t like george the racist for obvious reasons

but mostly for the way he glared at me
those two years
when all i was trying to do
was have a drink or three to shake off
my work day

i figured if it ever went down for me
in that place
it would either be with him
or with someone else because of him

but it never happened
the bar closed instead

and the whole lot of us scattered like flies
toward new piles of shit

george the racist drinks down at dean’s now
with the few who can still tolerate him

sometimes i think about
going down there for a drink or three
just to see what would happen

see if good old george
would start staring me down again
as if i were new

but it’s not worth it to me

and, besides
if i want to be watched
i can stand on any street corner in america
at any time

where the george the racists
running the government

keep their eyes on everyone
no matter what color you are.


No comments: