a little poetry
how I robbed a black man.
He was selling old paperbacks. I gave him three dollars for one. I didn't tell him that my parents are both professors. I didn't tell him that I live on the upper west side. I didn't tell him that I can always get a taxi, that nobody thinks I'm a shoplifter, that people don't cross the street when they see me coming, that my English is the King's English and the Army's English, that my face doesn't devalue real estate, that I can almost always pass for harmless. I just gave him the three dollars and I took the book and I went home. And he let me do it! And he was none the wiser! I was so happy to have made such a deal, I went home and threw up with the joy of having done it, of having won. What a pleasure it is to oppress and exploit. I vomit every time! I love my privilege to death. Kids, try this at home.
