They
sat upstairs at the movies,
we
sat down.
They
sat at the back of the bus,
we
at the front.
At
the A&P they had their water coolers,
we
had ours; side by side they were
clearly
marked White and Colored.
They
had their bathrooms,
we
had ours.
They
had their schools and
we
had ours.
They-we-they-we-they-we
separate
not necessarily equal
bur certainly divided.
You
didn’t ask why;
it
just was, until
someone
heard
the
weeping from heaven.
This
is another in a series of poem about growing up in the South, suggested by my
friend Nancy Rosback at A
Little Somethin’.
Photograph: Trolley, New Orleans, circa
1955 by Robert
Frank.
5 comments:
so many people
divided
by the cruelty
of human greed
how it was
how it is
oh
how it continues
in every heart
i me we
Quite the ending!
One of your best, Glynn! I, too, loved the ending.
Blessings!
yes ... great ending for a great poem.
I grew up in the West...so far away from any of this.
But Mother grew up in Florida. And some of the things she would say ... oh my. But they were just ingrained in her...
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