The sun e sons of Africa

They come here with empty faces
Looking for the sun
The equatorial sun rays hit their eyes,
They blink and find the son,
Poised, smiling at their wallets
With a hot, hard, black, cocked gun.
There is no argument to be had with
such a gun between your legs.
Between sips of badly brewed, black, good coffee

In an attempting coffee shop,
Coffee dregs in rebellion gather
at the bottoms of coffee mugs,
“Would you like to order English tea”
The waitress attempts.
Politely, they look away and behold the son
Tasting black, they decline to change their order.
They choose go black and never back to white.


Link to the Italian translation

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