The sun set on my face
when I came here to meditate.
So I wrap my face in my scarf
and look at no one.
I stick out like a red coat against a grey building.
But for all anyone knew,
I was black.
My hair sticks out like pins.
Ironically, the pain is fitting.
Down the stoop of the pyramid,
I look West and spot the
last slice of light
Pissed and annoyed,
I take out a pen
and jot down this thought.
