I am of seafaring stock. The sea breeze does not meet me.
The absence of salt.
The noises of the seagulls.
Great Albatross wings.
Absent.
No turquoise water here foreigner.
No blue skies either.
Just gray.
Just gloom.
Smog assaults my nose.
In this yellow land,
melanin stands out.
Since the landing,
I have not seen one so dark.
The blotches on my hands are the color of your face.
What happened to your skin?
Is it made of soot?
Is there a war in your land?
Is the sun so close?
How do you know when you are covered with dirt?
When do you know it’s time to wash?
Did God make you this way?
Surely, no one would make themselves so dark.

In a homogeneous land, small differences loom large.
My gosh, your eyes, they burn a fiery red.
Water filled,
I think they may cause a deluge.

Have I not seen you before?
Yes, you,
we ate kimchi together last week.
You sat beside me on a bus to Gangnam last spring.

The babble assaults me.
The sound of a tongue I will never learn grinds my ears.
The vibration of alien sounds.
Sufficing on truncated sentences, stares and gesticulations.
Don’t you recall?
We made signs for half an hour before you learned my name.
Your country took another half to convey.
Jamaica?
Oh, it’s in Africa you say.
No, not Africa.
But you are African?
How come you speak like American then?
Is your country rich because She’s so close to Uncle Sam?
Sight blurred.
A white handkerchief sullied.
You eat dog?
NO?
Well, I do.
Do you love to fuck?
All sooty skins do?
The size of your prick,
let me see.
Let me sit on it, though monkeys spread ???? they say in GoodNews Church.

The life of a short-term missionary.
Warding off cunt just to preach.

You must remember me.
I showed you mine on the subway train.
Don’t worry,
no one else saw
I blend in this oriental sea.

What is it that stinks so?
Rotting do-do.
Rice.
Pagoda fields.
Even beside the city’s drains.

It’s almost autumn.
Winter will come.
We need food for the cold.
This is Incheon.
This city is splendor
Drowned in these homogeneous meetings.
Men in black looking nervously at foreign ones shiver at the touch.
It’s better here though.
In Hong Kong,
they cover their nose.

Image1,Image2,Image3

A little about me and poetry

This poem is my submission to the School Poetry 100 Day Challenge hosted by @d-pend, whom I would like to thank for sponsoring this competition. He is indeed a godsend. Though a bit dubious, I would consider myself an intermediate writer of poetry. My first love is prose, so if you get a feel of something other than verse in my poetry that is why. I use poems to assist me when I have writer’s block. This strategy, however, seems to be morphing into something more serious. At least I think so.

Thanks for reading.

Poem by: @nicholas83

Date: 5/13/18

Join the Steemit school at: https://discord.gg/hyfYQ9P