Whack Blite: a poem for brown children who grow up in Oakville

Joking,
I said to him
you're just asking me to do it because I'm black.
I don't mean to offend
you or your colour
but you' you
are whiter than white, honey.
My back hairs tingled and
an angry lump formed in my throat
its sister in my forehead.
In one second my mood went from
carefree
to angry angry blick blick blick black
I could not look him in the eyes
I aged ten years and he kept going
watering down his hurtful reply to a joke
I have laughed at myself for you enough
no more-no more
Although you may be able to pick up the speak you
can discard it at your wish.
Mine is a permanent position
I am black.
You are white, blond and blue
It is not a state of mind, a single culture
an accent.
it is a colour, a physical condition
and one that I do not wish to be in competition about.
You say because I am an educated black woman
I am white.
because I don't eat pig's feet
or suck the marrow from the bones
because I don't
chups or swagger or curse dem blaadclots
or carry around zigzags in my hipsack I am
Whitewashed
if so, through my fault of my own
Surrounded by white
Taught by white
what do you expect?
I am what I am
what I am.