Not My People

Not My People


These are not my people.

But I want them to adopt me,

alien child dropped into the

Fundamentalist Christian Wild West.

Glitch. Mistake.

I instinctively knew about

ethnicities other than Indians and White people.

Bread that’s hard to roll into a ball,

other than corn bread.

That thinking differently, if at all,

could be a good thing.

These people tolerate differences,

don’t need more than three guns,

show awareness of climate change,

won’t bully children for intellectual endeavors.

Wrap me in your East Coast Liberal arms.

Sign the adoption papers.


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