Simon Says/Old Polynesia
A label on strangers strangled in expectation
Human initiation box yourself and wrap it in a ribbon
While you’re at it don’t forget
It takes two to siva
Skin talks in second degree exaggerations
And I see a brown man hold his hands up to the sky
You have the right to remain guilty
Appearance has weight on witness
Who wrote the world in excess?
We once believed in the skies and stars
But colours stain remember?
In this pacific diaspora
The days remain as poor as all the kids diluted in dumb
When we were five the teacher would line us up on the mat
And throw stories and games like a lolly scramble.
Our little faces untouched by the stirring politics of maturity
Tongues out trying to catch the sugared infancy of this new world
Where we’d trade barbies for books for a bite off a classmates Nutella sandwich.
We all sat together the tables linked in an open hug
At five, no one really cares about black or white rich or poor
The drum and score of difference.
When we were twelve we started realising that
Some things do matter to some people.
We didn’t play games anymore
Cliques started becoming colour coded
And we were shaped in the image of a label.
But there’s one game we still play
Simon says only certain skin types have access to intelligence
Simon says five finger discounts are an ethnic persuasion
Simon says 16 and pregnant white trash brown statistic
Simon keeps telling us what to wear who to friend How to act who to be place a hand to your heart and listen to the crashing of your own ocean
Or Simon’s gonna keep on saying be a piece of the puzzle
That makes up the struggle to being you.
AMBER ESAU
