Negrophil not Negrophobe
Negrophil not negrophobe,
Watch her chewing his ear lobe.
Soft lips unite,
He rubs her melon like breasts,
“I love you god damn negroes –
Your colour is the best,” she said.
He is in love with Angleterre,
Strumming his long fingers,
Through her auburn hair.
Then he pecks her rosy cheek,
And holds his head up high –
“My mam, a hundred years ago –
Massa would have me die…
Now I have the power –
My rod fills Massa’s flower -”
Her father can’t conceal his frown,
and groans
“The globe is turning brown!”
Massa resists to go with flow,
But this ain’t a century ago,
Daughter’s choice will be her man,
But Massa still rallies
For the Ku Klux Klan.
What’s with Massa’s hatred?
She’s married a black man!
A respectable white wife
Now he’s part of her clan.
“Never call her wifey,”
Vexed Massa retorts,
“& my inheritance when I die,
Fuck you,” he reports.
Negrophil not negrophobe,
Complaining the globe
shall soon be brown.
Massa stands in rage and stares,
he can’t believe his eyes.
Black man strumming his long fingers
Betwixt his daughter’s thighs.
Poem: Shackles to Triumph: Resurrecting the Resilient Slave Narrative
My rod fills Massa’s flower.