(
This poem I am sharing with you is based on an incident that occurred while I worked as a bus assistant.)
she spoke with the bobbing-sway
of the head from side to side, the chin
jetting out as a chicken’s strut just at the end
of the line, while a small blonde girl
ran from her door
to get on the bus. The next day the same:
That’s why I hate white people,
as her eyes rolled, the corns
in her hair flopped about when the blonde
wore the same shirt as yesterday, ran out
of the house without her coat
on, with socks and shoes in hand.
That’s why I hate white people,
I heard her say
again, the grin gritty on filed teeth
as another said “don’t they clean
the yard, wash their windows, put
their bikes in the garage;” the blonde’s tummy
growled ferociously; “didn’t
your mother fix you breakfast?”
That’s why I hate white people,
escaped those lips a last time, before seeing
administration when the blonde
girl tripped and put a hole in the knee
That’s why I hate. . . .
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