I Get Angry

I get angry
when people
call me racist
because the Chinese
all have the same faces.

I get angry
when you don’t tell me
where you’re from.
I know your parents
weren’t born in this Kingdom.

I get angry
when our line-up
has a player called Raheem.
It’s not a name I like
to see in the national team.

I get angry
when I hear
the opposite of English.
They’re all pointing fingers,
laughing at my business.

I get angry
that Eastern Europe
is full of thieves.
They’re ripping off leaves
from the Bank of England’s trees.

I get angry
that our street
has a refugee.
If we let them all in,
I become the minority.

I get angry
that the country
has confided in me.
At work. At school.
Even my own family.

I get angry
that I’m a safe space
for a C, N or P.
I don’t want to laugh along.
I don’t want to get angry.

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