Well, I've never posted serious poetry to this site, so this is a first: an excerpt from the poetry of Etan Thomas, black activist and NBA forward for the Washington Wizards.
Now I look upon my culture,
I see ballers, sure I do
Hard corers in Haute Couture, in furs
Enough to make my ancestry - stir
My brothers among me,
Kwame a black walnut tree,
Lorenzo in his Benzo, give Stevie Blake his Vitamin D
Gheorghe, the Great White Way,
My endocrine Giant is dying on the parquet
My soldier in hardwood war, Haywood
I ask: “What sound is made from the clapping of one small hand?”
A heart bigger that the prostate gland
of Abe
Honest, Master Pollin, an ego so kingly swollen, let me go,
Because the Foggy Bottom Metro is still an underground railroad
Link.
