One day of blue in twenty-fourteen’s June,
Sunburnt was I, my face as vinted fire
From San Francisco’s golden afternoon;
My cheeks; a red not seen since ardour’s ire.
Was when at dark, as I was walking home
Through Tenderloin, blackest of the districts,
In yellow shame, I gave a man a loan;
One green George Washington paper ticket.
When shouted a homeless girl down the street
“Hey! White boy! White boy! Give me a dollar!”
“Well, alright, but don’t call me ‘white boy’, please,
For we all bleed the same blooming colour.”
Was then the homeless man looked up and said
“Yeah, girl, can’t you see? He ain’t white – he red!”