Fine White Lass... - Poem by M.A. Wood
In the north,
I knew a fine white lass,
But down south, they were cold as ice to me.
To whistle at a white gal,
Though beyond stupidity,
Was to be my epiphany.
I whistled at a fine white women,
She simply glared at me,
And now here I am, next to Death,
Riding into Eternity.
Note: This was an assignment to write as aa african-american in the south. I hope I did a good job.
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