The Poor White Snitch

Her Skin

Black like the tar beneath her feet,

Tough from the swells on her back.

Her Hair

Coiled like vines sprouting towards the sun,

Rough like wool on the back of a sheep.

Her Voice

Quiet like dandelions swaying in the wind,

But strong like ten men.

Her Lips

Thick like vanilla ice cream,

Sweat like sugar cane.

Her Power

Disappeared with her humanity,

Slaughtered by her oppressors.

Yet, she is feared by the free,

Feared by the rich,

And feared by the poor white snitch.