The Alleged Post-Racial America
I watched the news in comfort
And wondered what happens next in America.
But, one day, when I thought no white or black,
Virtually everybody called the President black.
I said, "No, there is no black President."
I knew he was a combination of various colors.
He was a huge bowl of tossed salad.
Does race really matter for the nation of bald eagles?
No, but only lunatics run the asylum.
There is no harmony without a post-racial America.
People call people things without rhyme or reason,
For it is time to stop calling people various colors.
Can we all just get along?
This poem is about:
My country
Guide that inspired this poem: