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Click hereThe trouble with rhythm
is that white folks don’t get it.
According to the Pope
God says it works…
but you can still get knocked up.
I’ve got a toy in the attic,
lithographed tin
and worth a lot of bucks.
They call it a Coon Jig…
a dancing black man
with a pole shoved up his ass
and an oversized key
that you wind to make him dance,
clickety soft shoe.
Making babies by counting time.
Making dollars by investing
in black men with poles shoved
up their asses.
I hear more babies crying,
clickety soft shoe.
I truely enjoyed this poem~
clever write and insightful
zen master of pen~
Excellent use of metaphor, JD4G! Wonderful poem.