When my Lexus cruises through
New York's upper east side,
police brake fast
and blue eyes ask,
"What drug are you going to deal
to our suburban ideal?"

You cannot know what it is to feel
Black
and blue as a note strummed by B.B. King,
wailing his 3 O'Clock tragedy.

So, I'll turn the corner
on your stares,
give Glover a lift
to your front yard.
Unlock the gate of your white picket fence
and Blacken your American Dream.