They hate me.
But they don't know me.

They blame me
Even though my first ancestry came---
Late Nineteenth C
They hate me.

Seeking the ultimate cruller,
Great granddad was Sweet-Tooth
They hate him.
They hate me.

As a child, they bathed me in contempt---
They broke the pinata
and stole my chocolate and Sweet-Tooth...

They are perpetual victims, entitled, privileged.
They wander around in their slavery
three times the Hebrews plus Friday the 13th
and counting
They blame me.

I am fair with red-hair
They hate me.
My eyes are blue sometimes green---
They blame me for their poverty and circumstance.

The sun burns my skin.
But not as much as the salt suckers hitting my face
from their words spewed from their pews
They hate me.
They hate the United States.

...They were welcomed in our clubhouse
the older much older Cadets
beat us up and took our candy
black elbows in my eyes
they stole our dance, our lyrics
even our Motown...

...They held me down in venom
as I clutch two hard candies
a root-beer and butterscotch
They call me baby, though I try to muffle my cries
in their spittle
They killed my Sweet-Tooth

They hated me then.
I thought it faded, maybe even reconciled
just pretend.
But it is now -- it is then for them.

March 20, 2008