The Russians Are Coming Poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar

The last time I purchased gasoline,
That was from someone from the Middle East.
Literally.
He owned that gas station.
And said he had three.

The last time I wanted something to eat,
It wasn't a pizza, a burger or a hotdog.
That was Chinese.
Fried rice with pork, an egg roll
And Wanton soup.

My last car was made in Japan.
The jeans I wore had a Korean tag.
And they were baggy.
I liked the way they sagged.

The last time I visited New York City...
I walked into a building that was owned by the Germans.
I purchased a newspaper from someone who spoke French.
Most of the banks where I live are controlled by the South Africans.
And they speak with a Dutch accent!

And now you're trying to tell me, 'The Russians Are Coming!
The Russians Are Coming? '
If millions of Mexicans are living here illegally...
What is all the fuss about?
Let the Russians come!
Aren't they here already?

I'm a Black man...
And all of them roll their eyes at me.
And I can trace my family tree in this country,
Back for centuries.
And the only thing I'm qualified to do,
Is to entertain everyone!
On stages, sports or just sitting on a stoop...
When the tourists come through the neighborhood,
As if we were in a zoo!

The Indians own all of the casinos.
And where the Buffalos roam...
They wont even leave them alone!
United they want to claim we are.
But they aren't in that 'state' of mind!