My shoes are leather bound.

My place of work, when I was hired,

Told me they liked my shoes.

I watched as one with cloth feet left,

I think they were excused.

My first paycheck, soon I received

A large sum to my name.

Yet my one friend across from me

Got much less than the same.

I looked, and there, on his forearms

stood several grand tattoos.

My arms were bare; I wondered then

if he had leather shoes.

When I drove home, I went too fast,

Yet I was not then caught.

Another man, slower than me,

police, just him, they sought.

My eyes drifted towards the man,

and there the sense came in.

The only difference we possessed

was the color of our skin.

And yet day by day nothing is said,

Spoken not a sound.

To rectify the ádvantage

My shoes have, leather bound.

I won’t be silent, I won’t remain.

Cause everytime I do I think

My friend across the desk from me

Got much less than the same.

The man who was pulled over,

Wrongfully accused,

Society, through him reveals,

A well-forgotten bruise.

When I bring this topic up,

Everyone looks around.

I know not why they turn away,

And do not make a sound.

They look left and right and up and down,

And out from side to side. 

Solutions to the problem here

It seems they can’t decide. 

Their eyes stay fixed aground,

To an illusion hereby I bear.

When I ask them on their stance expound,

They offer not a stare.

Why do they keep looking down?

Let the question still resound.

I think perhaps, they eyed my shoes,

My shoes, leather bound.