An Interesting Encounter

I composed this poem as part of my English Studies class...moi peberet subject...the theme: RACISM..so...amuse urselves la k..=P

Pound, pound
I knock on the heavy oak
Waiting anxiously
I carve a pattern with my loafers
Of polished, the respectable colour of brass
Ah what a sight...
The door creaks open
"Yes?" the imploring, curious eye
Oh no, I did not mistake that
"Good day, it has come to my knowledge,
I smiled, "...that you have decent lodging
At your premises, ma'am..." I let my voice trail
As her curiosity visibly deepens
"Ahm...yes, I MIGHT have...you ARE African, are you not, mister?"
Still as a fort, I pause and arrange my words
With dear care, I start
Not an ounce less of forte and eagerness
I smile; "Why, yes ma'am...
I was born right here in good ol' England, though.."
Her eyes widen a little then shrinks
Her gaze trails up and down my 6-feet figure
And she snaps up a stern expression
"I'm afraid I already have a tenant-in-waiting
For the house
I'm in a bit of a rush now, sorry for the inconvenience
Have a nice day"
And the oak creaks shut, right at my face
Washed upon by disbelief, utter
Staring at the intricate carvings
The odd rose plant with thorns
Strangely, related
I stare down at myself
Anything inappropriate? Indecent?
Or by speech, rude slang marred?
Ah
It dawned finally...
I was African.
Still am.