White Lie

Sometimes I wonder

what it would be like

to be white.

Even though ten-minute times-up

blister in the sun, peeling orange skin

could never be my thing. Still,


I saw two girls,

(I know why Brits call them birds),


about wonderfully trivial white things,

Puffs of air

on clouds of smoke things,

Air-light brains atop bright bouncy grins,

They sauntered into the store.

Smiled at, greeted too!

Then me.

Mine, a false “May I help you?”


“Yes sir,” I said.

“Could you stop fantasizing about

calling the police?

Stop masturbating to fake


of what I plan to steal?

Cuz, that would be great.”


But that’s not what I say.


“Look sir. See the blond?

Yes, the one in the yoga pants?

Her sticky hands

just slipped a silk scarf into her shoulder bag.

While your devil eyes

dug ugly holes into me,

Can’t you see?”


But I don’t say that either.


“No thanks.”


That’s what I say,

then spray

the special potion

I saw for $17.99 on some

online shop alive with viruses.

The spray is special, you see.

I spray it on me

when I need to be seen.

Truly seen.

Bright White it’s called,

but that’s a lie.

The color it turns my face

is pinkish

with flecks of yellow gray.


It doesn’t change my eyes, though.

That’s very important,

cuz I still want to truly see.

That’s the benefit of being me.

I just use Bright White

when I want to

Shop and not be followed

Walk and not be martyred

Drive and not be murdered

Speak and not be strangled

Things like that.

I bought six packs

of Bright White,

But I know what’s on your mind.

It’s a lie,

you say,

your skin’s not white!

That’s true, thank God,

but keep your voice down.

My lie is white.

You said those are okay,