Hot Brown

My city has a ferocious appetite for hot browns and brown liquor.

It sits high and mighty on its brown derby horse. Gets full from its winnings.

Brown noses to fickle tourists but forgets about the black and brown bodies waiting for a seat at the table.

Even now it still enjoys the tedious taste of Kentucky Fried segregation but expects everyone else to find nutrients in regurgitated integration and opportunities from it's empty bluegrass pallette. 

There never seems to be enough rations to go around but the same people are getting fed over and over 

again. 

I pretend like I aint hungry though.  

Eat off the hearty pieces of my pride throughout the day.

I sit impatiently waiting for more diversity inclusive crumbs to fall from the greedy mouth of some white man who dont know nothin bout the seasoning in my poems.

This chophouse of a town knows how to hide the plates so well. 

I guess in hopes that we don't try to bite the hand that barely feeds us. 

We should have just pulled ourselves up by our bootstrap napkins and made reservations to get some scraps from somewhere, anywhere just not there, right? 

At least I can always go back to my fast food desert. Not a lot of substance but we make it stretch. 

You know they handing out free produce to us brown folk now.  I suppose an apple a day keeps the protests away or the poverty away or the police away or however that saying goes. 

But I like a fresh batch of greens and hot sauce with my pity.

I wonder how many people do I have to serve before I get a decent meal. 

Nevermind no time to be selfish cuz in my city we gettin' ready for Derby. We're always getting ready for Derby.