The July Founders
You return every year and the same month
That is what I remember as I bid you farewell
Six months ago;
Riding on an old short-legged shoe
In the parameter of being a White or Hispanic
Or just a dead Indian instead I listen in full
To the lengthy story of a Black President;
The fumblingly sound of hope
While the leeks sway me.
Copyright © George Zamalea | Year Posted 2013
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