The Black Garbo
Nina Mae
Back light turn you white
And white’s way too tight.
Nina Mae
Whites don’t like color.
Or sharing their power.
Nina Mae
Slay that “Dinah “
And steal Hallelujah!
Call Harlem Seven-Seven-Eleven.
See who still playin’ the dozens.
Stereotype, all cotton is craps.
Break to scat with rat-a-tat taps.
Nina Mae
From this racist country
Hide away to Paris.
Nina Mae
On the London scene.
Do Chocolate and Cream.
Nina Mae
Star in your own TV
Special on the BBC
You and Paul Robeson soon discover
How Sanders of the River
Shows an Africa it ridicules.
Brit supremacy still rules.
Nina Mae
Only race films remain,
Where bit parts complain.
Nina Mae
All you are anymore
Is Mammy or whore.
Nina Mae
Poor in New York
Starving in the dark
Whether King Vidor’s Chick,
Or Elia Kazan’s Pink,
Not even Ebony
Printed your obituary.
[Disposable Poem December 3, 2015]
Dr. Mike
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