Eric says this is “Harmony with green hair”.
In the past few days we were accosted by an elderly European man in a yellow leisure suit and Panama hat complaining about our tattooed skin and maintaining the beauty of the white race or some bullshit like that. Flippantly I told him that I wished I came out darker like my father’s skin. (Most of the time that’s true, and other times I like being a ghosty mosca en leche). I thought it would piss him off, like those weird ranty emails my uncle (mother’s side) used to forward from far right newsgroups about miscegenation destroying America.
Instead, the fucker blocks me so my back is to the shaft of the disability elevator in the subway station. I can feel his breath on my tits. I’m lovely, he says, and I can remove my tattoos, my dreads, learn to dress and behave better. I can assimilate and be brought into better things.
I can be gracious about being hate-fucked and debased.
I miiiiiiight get rewarded. But that’s doubtful.
Eric reaches his right arm out and I take it and he sweeps me past the man and I press against my husband with kissing and smiles. And we limp off together as the old man says something else inaudible and we don’t look back, mixed chicks fucking cripples and getting matching tattoos about it to destroy white America.