— a poem by Bob Stringer

I am very black,
like a charcoal Shaq
dumping on a pretty rack.
I love her blossom,
because she makes me
But her crack,
snapped black
in action, reaction
Her chores remind
me of purity.
she cannot resist
her insecurities
but she 
keeps hooking up
with her priorities.
I can't stand
being around minorities
because she is the only
sorry pineapple,
in the universe,
whose verse I 
cannot choose.
Then, I hear it all again.
and my mind goes black,
to charcoal Shaq.

Bob Stringer is old fashioned and unconventional.