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What colour are you lad? the normal question asked
when at the bar or first day in the job
When first heard, shock – today? it’s not the past
when brown or white or coffee roused the mob
When skin tone brought belonging or rejection
Where failure to fit in meant fear or insurrection
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Glanced down at arm – a sort of pink appendage
And muttered, “White” fearing discrimination
Or even worse, erasure from their friend page
and recreational or work life condemnation
Fit in? Or was it confrontation in the fold
Had liberal values passed this place and left them cold
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Laughter at the plight, gut wrenching feeling
There is no win when colour is the key
To bridge the void. No yellow card appealing.
I am, you are, no different from me
And yet you see the outside of my soul
And ignore inside, never see the whole
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And then the reason laughter and derision
Both raised their head upon my stammered word .
It isn’t that my colour clouds their vision
And now I see they never even cared.
My colour will be mine through life until I’m dead
The question asked, “Lad, are you Blue or Red”.
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Red ’til I’m dead!. Oh, you’re Blue
Friendly rivalry starts to brew
Only laughter. No voices raised in anger or in rmindless rage
Two amateur comics strut their stuff upon a friendly stage.