Snow Is White Poem by Jan Oskar Hansen

Snow is white
He was born in a rather narrow-minded town that had
strict rules for acceptable behaviour, no bars, no restaurant
serving alcohol and no public display of affection.
A Muslim scholar who came to this town by navigational
error, left in a hush, claiming the city was too Pakistani
Houses were painted white, or very light-yellow no other
colours were allowed, a rebel, a communist painted his
house red, the law came down hard on him, said his house
was a fire hazard,
had to paint white over the red that made his dwelling look
like a diabetic ulcer.
When new people bought the house, they scrapped off
the old colour painted the house brilliantly white, only to
discover "white" was no longer a favourite colour.
Any colour would do but white.
Books and articles were written about how terrible the whites
500 years ago, were, colonizing nonwhite countries behaving
cruelly statues of that time were thrown into the sea, great noise
from the righteous people of the day.
The whites took to hating themselves in winter use self-tanning
cream and in summers sat so long time on the beach they got
wrinkled skin and cancers.
But not despair everything is in transition, like men who feel
like women cut off their penises and wear frocks only to discover
nothing had been wrong with them, just being gay.
Too late for them, you might say, but it is also too late for us as
we gladly walk down the path in an oblivious haze towards
the bleaching of the bones.