Spiced With Choice Ingredients

Feasting on ethnic heat I feed.
Spiced with choice ingredients!
Disqualified I'm declared...
To breathe air my birthright brings.
How foolish these things swing back and forth
In the minds of those
Discouraged by my lack of subservience!

My ancestors did not wilfully play in bondage!
Not of my blood.
Not of my composed heritage,
That leaves me here today with dues paid!

You 'may' criticize my stance and flair for life!
That's just the tip of my arrogance!
I don't owe you anything...
And that's the joy I have!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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