Parable of why I will eat white people
Email to a friend,
How's Harlem? I was there this time last year. Wrote a poem Harlem Ain't Harlem No More. My daughter wanted to buy a house in Harlem but couldn't afford it so she moved to Brooklyn, Bed-Sty. Now Brooklyn Ain't Brooklyn. Her white tenants yelled down stairs for me to stop talking so loud because they had to go to work. WTF. My daughter said, "Well, dad, you know you do talk loud."
A few days before when I came out the subway, two young white people were taking a survey so they asked me what I liked to eat. When I ignored them they walked away. As I awaited the bus, I decided to answer them. I walked over to them and said, "You want to know what I like to eat? I like to eat white people!" They gave me the strangest look.
I told my friend on the phone that night if the white tenants bug me again, I going to tell them, "Next time I'm coming up stairs to eat them!" What a wonderful world!
I wish someone would tell me to be quiet in my own house – that is deep. White folks move to the City and demand peace and quiet. They threw the drummers out of Marcus Garvey park when I was in Harlem. It is was a weekly ritual but a handful of white folks demanded silence.... When I grew up the sound of congas was ubiquitous.
Right now I’m living in Tulsa OK and work in the old Black Wall Street neighborhood of Greenwood, virtually nothing remains and it won’t be coming back … not too different than the spirit of Harlem.
Peace,
Troy
