The Dream

He’d dreamed

a future of wealth

and abundance:

a world of harmony,

where disease,

war and famine

were abolished.

It was filled

with people born

of perfect genes:

a race of beauty

and symmetry,

where malformation

did not exist.

He told me

I was not in the dream.

I was too Irish,

too Moorish,

too Kurdish,

too Yiddish.

My crooked leg

would make me beg.

I was too autistic,

too artistic,

too atheistic

too altruistic.

My feckless way

was not Ok.

I was too poor,

too weird,

too black,

too feared.

My point of view

would never do.

He’s come to kill me.