Mrs. Acquadro made me pour out my coffee
We stood there after my third period class
watching the richness of its browness
Yanked down the insatiable ivory drain
My back, a straining rubber tree, bent away from her
She lectured me on why it still counted as stealing
Even though it was free during lunch.
Of course, It’s not stealing if you’re white
In that case its mercantilism
Or manifest destiny
But I do wonder how she knew.
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