At the Long Island Rail where once I sat.
Waiting on my train for Long Island Land
I chanced upon many marvelous things.
A scene that never before my eyes had seen.
My ears, however, heard many an incendiary term.
But reality did these stereotypes upturn.
The lazy nigger in his jacket and tie running to Manhattan to his 9 to 5
past the usurious dude, donating to charity his life’s due,
beside the wop and his wetback wife, going to Tiffany once more to splurge,
where scarf wearing Caucasians clean the floors
for the hip-hop loving Afro sporting Asian youth.
Rapping of men of different climes
here at the Rail where men do converge
to catcall cats from foreign lands
at the Long Island Rail where a lonely gypsy sings,
and dances around the turd of labels upturned.
