Whitecaps coffee-white, a bay frosty.
Sails, 99% white,
Always, gotta be one, black or blue,
Freaking tradition-breaker
White man with white baby,
In a white onesie,
Astride his daddy's tummy,
Dad, he ain't dressed warm enough.
All these observations recorded,
Taxed and paid for, with dandy words
Floating by the nook, overlooking
The whitish sandy beach mapped
As Silver Beach,
Where I pray.
Whither white led?
A summary of twenty writes
In four labored days,
A poetry *****,
To say anything else,
Too little, too more.
Overstayed my welcome,
But a white cleansing accomplished,
With look-backs submitted, got some debts paid,
Bills marked overdue, resolved.
The children unblemished,
To new schools and new troubles,
I can only inky-dinky-rinky worry.
This fall is the season of produce or die.
Of these things I don't joke.
If I get pasteurized, won't be a good thing.
This my style after all.
Simplest, to the point where
Poetry is a luxury,
I can't always afford.