I love you more than I ever loved a woman

despite the distraction of your huge scary bosom.

You tolerate me at my most obtuse,

with my close to the skin miscomprehension of race.

Our friendship’s built on misunderstanding

where we compete for paucity of upbringing,

but I envy you and everything you are,

and when we link arms we travel so far.

Brown face, white face, I don’t understand

why matching smiles can’t countermand

the orders inculcated in frustrated minds

and why the history of mankind leaves us so blind.

We glare at each other in exasperation,

unable to vocalise our explanations.

Why do I think it’s you who has the colour,

and is this problem yours mine or ours?

Don’t try to solve it, it’s not an equation,

or look to soothe it like a recalcitrant emotion.

Some things in life defy resolution,

and if you can’t define the question there can be no solution.