You eye my braid, my old car, my flute bagin the rear window, and that expression comes
onto your pale, clean-shaven face.
You seem upset that I don't shuffle, step aside,
show embarrassment about my dark skin, and
why must I have feathers in plain view?
I had the good fortune to hear Thomas read this at an open mic recently, and he graciously consented to let me record him reading it. Read the full text here.