Sadly, this snark-fest is the most relevant poem of mine that I can find at the moment. I'll keep looking.
Some of My Best Friends
My closest, dearest friends don’t know
how much they really mean
to me. They'd see I love them so,
if they could read my screen.
We’ve never gathered after work.
We’ve never gone to lunch.
But when I flame some online jerk,
I dearly love that bunch.
I feel compelled do my part
to pour forth like a spigot
about the friendship in my heart,
when someone's called me "bigot."
It’s funny that I don’t have more
Black buddies. (I’m so nice!)
The few I have, though, I adore
enough to count them twice.
Found it!
Why We Still Need Black History Month
The only month
we ever raise
this subject has
the fewest days.
Last edited by Julie Steiner; 02-14-2017 at 07:35 PM.
Reason: New poem. Also tweaks to first one.
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