Yours Seem To Be On Your Shoulders

At times your tongue,
Seems ready to spit fire.
Why so quick,
To expose and display...
Such an attitude laced,
With embitteredness?

'Well,
Let's see.
Maybe it is residue left over,
From the years I have experienced...
Being a Black man.
Who knows?

And maybe...
Just being a human being around those,
Who have chosen to follow along...
Like programmed robots when I am not.
And I am reminded of those times...
When pretentions were easily spotted.'

And today?

'Today?
No one cares.
Most eyes are focused on exposed butts.'

And this reality makes you disgruntled?

'Of course it does.
Even though I am told,
I have a butt of a nineteen year old.'

By who?

'Nevermind.
Who's behind is it? '

And today...
Yours seem to be on your shoulders!

'Like I said...
It is mine to flaunt.
Whether or not it is on my shoulders.
I am in no attitude to conduct a random survey.'

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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