dispatches from post
racial america
she comes up to me
a stack of fliers for the new annie movie
in her hand
throws them down on my desk
the mostly black cast looking up at me
and says, for the new pc america
when i ask her
what she means
she calls the little star of the film
a colored girl
like we’re a couple of fiddle-skipping
southern darlings
right out of the jim crown south
then waddles away
with thirty pounds of excess
white privilege stuck up her ass
clutching the new york post
a picture of missouri in flames
on the cover
to commune with the last vestiges
of her freedom
in the stinking shitter
we’re she’ll fart
glory glory hallelujah
and the star-spangled banner
over articles on immigration
as the ghost of jefferson davis
shakes his fingers
testifies
to flushing all of those
patriotic turds
of hers
away.
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