Jim

Hey Jim
you don't know my name, do ya, ya
bastard with bifocals. Ya think ya
knows me cause we're both white
living in this neighborhood, this
neighborhood crawling with DY-
VERSIT-EE. All these people
different than us, me and you,
y' old fart, and me a young punk.
Ya'd think we growed up together
the way ya talked, as if it was me and
you against the world.
Those hoodlums, ya called 'em. All
those who don't look like us, white
as ghosts we are.

Hey Jim. I got news for you. Ya
don't know me at all. Ya don't know
where I'm going or where I been any
more than you know the streetperson
outside your store. Ya may know
my latest hardware need, and I still
may buy your sandpaper and tack
cloths but that's where it ends.
Don't lump me and you together
no more. Jim.