Tourist

Tourist, don’t take my picture
Don’t take my picture, tourist
I’m too ugly
Too dirty
Too skinny
Don’t take my picture, white man
Mr. Eastman won’t be happy
I’m too ugly
Your camera will break
I’m too dirty
Too black
Whites like you won’t be content
I’m too ugly
I’m gonna crack your Kodak
Don’t take my picture, tourist
Leave me be, white man
Don’t take a picture of my burro
My burro’s load’s too heavy
And he’s too small
And he has no food here
Don’t take a picture of my animal
Tourist, don’t take a picture of the house
My house is of straw
Don’t take a picture of my hut
My hut’s made of earth
The house already smashed up
Go shoot a picture of the Palace
Or the Bicentennial grounds
Don’t take a picture of my garden
I have no plow
No truck
No tractor
Don’t take a picture of my tree
Tourist, I’m barefoot
My clothes are torn as well
Poor people don’t look at whites
But look at my hair, tourist
Your Kodak’s not used to my color
Your barber’s not used to my hair
Tourist, don’t take my picture
You don’t understand my position
You don’t understand anything
About my business, tourist
“Gimme fie cents”
And then, be on your way, tourist.

Boat People

We are all in a drowning boat 
Happened before at St. Domingue 
We are the ones called boat people 

We all died long ago
What else can frighten us ?
Let them call us boat people

We fight a long time with poverty
On our islands, the sea, everywhere 
We never say we are not boat people

In Africa they chased us with dogs
Chained our feet, piled us on
Who then called us boat people?

Half the cargo perished 
The rest sold at Bossal Market 
It’s them who call us boat people

We stamp our feet down, the earth shakes
Up to Louisiana, down to Venezuela 
Who would come and call us boat people?

A bad season in our country 
The hungry dog eats thorns
They didn’t call us boat people yet 

We looked for jobs and freedom
And they piled us on again: Cargo—Direct to Miami 
They start to call us boat people

We run from the rain at Fort Dimanche 
But land in the river at the Krome Detention Center
It’s them who call us boat people

Miami heat eats away our hearts 
Chicago cold explodes our stomach 
Boat people boat people boat people

Except for the Indians— 
What American didn’t get here somehow
But they only want to call us boat people

We don’t bring drugs in our bags 
But courage and strength to work
Boat people—Yes, that’s all right, boat people 

We don’t come to make trouble 
We come with all respect
It’s them who call us boat people

We have no need to yell or scream 
But all boat people are equal, the same 
All boat people are boat people

One day we’ll stand up, put down our feet
As we did at St. Domingue 
They’ll know who these boat people really are

That day, be it Christopher Columbus
Or Henry Kissinger—
They will know us
We who simply call ourselves
People