Anaflactic Vanilla

How does the life I live

and the privileges I’ve had

keep others enslaved and

oppressed?

 

How is it that I can use

my small voice in the

world overtaken by the uncaring,

the apathatic,

to throw a motherfucking wrench in

the wheels of the mighty system

which oppresses and demeans

some while benefitting few,

stopping it quicker than me and the

kids down on San Pablo can yell,

“Uluru!” And mama in the back

sings Kumbaya.

 

My aunt and uncle moved

into a gated community

in a very wealthy suburb,

presumably to keep the brown

people away from their

precious Lexus, expensive golf clubs.

they had the good sense, though,

to give the spare keys

to the brown people who go right

through the gate

and do the lawn and laundry,

they are not willing to do

in their very busy schedules.

 

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