Saturday, March 10, 2012

They're Still Around


Hatred shined bright
in the California sun.
I could see it in his blue eyes,
I could smell it on his breath.

You fucking beaner,
stammered out of his chapped lips.

I couldn't hear him,
my ears were stuffed
with the serenity of music.

I only smiled.

He expected me to respond with the same hatred
that's been gnawing on his soul
since he can remember.

I didn't give him the satisfaction,
just strolled right past him,
leaving him ashamed of his own ancestral blood
boiling inside him.

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