All the Same

All The Same David J Walker My neighborhood Was filled with children All the same Every freckle every name and Every game we played on the Playground after school We were all the same Ok there were David’s and Jimmy’s And Billy’s and Susie’s and Janie’s and Lucy’s and an odd boy named Kirk and a Brown girl named Latisha and her little Brother Pablo who were Spanish and Spoke English like a language They didn’t know But other than that we were all the same Ok, some boys were towheaded and Some girls had golden curls and The rest had brown locks except for Chris Who was cursed with fire engine Red hair Like his mother and big Buck teeth, with which when dared, he could open a pop bottle of Orange Crush But other than that we were all the same Ok, some had different last names than their parents and someone would whispered “Divorced you know” as if it was catching Like the mumps or measles so I hid my secret about the Older Brothers and Older Sisters and the Other Wives and other Misters my Mother and Father had known some time Before I was born It was all confusing because they didn’t Seem to like us or talk like us or look like us But other than that, we were all the same Ok My Mothers name used to be Rosy during The War and she made airplanes that My father flew in and used a big gun to Shoot down the “Nazi Bastards” who killed A lot of his friends Everyone could recite the words they heard About the war when they didn’t know We were listening Dad said everyone prayed they would get home But he doesn’t pray anymore And even though he was a flyer Mom said He curses like a sailor So, we were all the same Ok some friends were Baptist’s, and some were Catholics and some were Methodists and Dad, who would go to Church on Easter, said the man two houses down who drove a Bread Truck during the week was a parttime preacher on Sundays for House full of Holy Rollers and I asked if that meant they prayed on skates? But other than that we were all the same Ok There was this Jewish girl named Ruth and little her sister Sarah who didn’t believe in Jesus and didn’t get presents at Christmas and everyone said they were going to Hell even though they were nice girls and their father was a Doctor who spoke German and their Mother was a Blonde lady from Someplace called Ukraine Who taught History at the college on the Other side of town Other than that We were all the same Ok Except for the ones who still had their tonsils Or couldn’t ride a bike And hadn’t learned to swim And didn’t like baseball whose mothers were afraid to let them play red rover or tag in the park until after dark Like the rest of us Who were all the same Ok I didn’t forget the kids of color Because We didn’t know any They had to live in their own Side of town And never came down to the Parks where we played … They couldn’t come to the schools Or churches where we prayed But That’s the way it had to be We were told And wasn’t our fault And not our own blame that We had no way to know that We weren’t all the same