Boy Brown

“Brown boy” I was called

in a playground filled with brown skin.

Bakla! they yelled then pushed me

as my mouth swallowed dirt and grime.

I stood and walked away

looking macho and tough

like the leatherman from Village People

while the discordant voices of pre-pubescent boys

screeched behind me

“Brown boy” I was called

in an elementary school filled with brown skin.

"You hit like a girl!" Emerson yelled

as the tetherball hit my head.

My lips slammed on cement and grass

as I quickly stood up

trying to look mighty as the shirtless

and barrel chested Johnny Weissmuller.

Silently yelling like Tarzan, I hit the tetherball

and everyone laughed

“Brown boy,” I was called

in a middle school filled with brown skin.

"Why you no speak good English, bra?"

as they tripped me,

tasting milk and mac & cheese on the

filthy cafeteria floor.

I stood up, looking as strong as Big John Studd

with his long blonde mane and burly physique.

I picked up my lunch and walked away

listening to their

snickering

“Brown boy,” I was called

in a high school filled with brown skin.

"Watch out Ronson, Will’s a māhū!"

as my mouth slammed on rusty cold steel on locker 302.

I dated Catherine so that I looked

like a ladykiller like Tom Selleck

with his thick mustache and hairy chest.

And as I held Candy’s hand, I still heard them

laughing

“Brown boy,” I was called

in a university filled with brown skin.

I spoke and wrote like I did not sound

as my mouth tasted a woman’s various orifices.

I was seductive as Selleck, imposing as Studd,

mighty as Weismuller, and macho like Village.

Brown boy was I with my brown eyes

dilating at a mere sight of beard and chest hair.

I lowered my voice, varied my accents,

masking my Asian descent--

--I feel his pale, milky skin

as my hand explores his chest.

On his thick bicep I lie

as my mouth kisses his shoulder.

Staring at his silver goatee,

he mumbles about politics and guns

as I ignore his slurred speech.

Furious words against skin darker than mine

spew like bile as some warm spittle

land on my arm.

“White boy,” he calls me

and I smile.