We went to Dan Lynch's, & listened
to White musicians pretending that they
were Black. And the people next to us jumped
up & down, pretending that they were rock stars.
And I put my hand on your knee, pretending
that I was your lover. You remained aloof. Why
did you have to be the only one who insisted on being yourself?
Home of Literature, Poetry and Culture. Write and enjoy articles, essays, prose, classic poetry and contests.