I’ll write about my privilege, I’m white
And therefore privileged, despite
My poverty and homelessness and failing sight,
And sleeping on the cold, hard street at night.
I have unconscious bias, I’m not brown
And therefore am not really out and down,
I chose my life, and all my seeming lack
Of worldly goods is riches, still,
For I have everything, if I’m not black.
The richest, blackest King, has not my wealth,
The fittest, strongest black has not my health,
I may be broken, drunken, in the gutter, on my back,
But I have privilege you see,
Which means a vast great deal to me,
I say hooray for being a tramp
In my little cardboard camp
At least I’m not black!