Forgetting Where You Came From, Part Iii
...In a fury Malcolm shot to his feet,
shouted ‘Uncle Tom!’ in a moment of heat,
got into his car, a half-dead pinto,
in a cloud of dust down the road did he go.
As he drove away in the door appeared
Booker’s love Mindy, eyes half cast with fear,
she said,”I take it things didn’t go smooth?”
Said Booker,”No, we won’t be seeing him soon.”
He went on thinking he’d not see him again,
but fate has a way of making fools of men,
six years had passed, and two daughters had come,
when up the drive came a station wagon.
Emerging form it, brother Malcolm came,
it was clear to Booker something had changed,
with him an olive-skinned girl with a ring,
on her shoulder a newborn boy sleeping.
Malcolm ever dressed like the suburbs,
was it possible he’d heard his loud words?
The something had pierced all the acrimony?
From what Booker saw, this didn’t seem phony.
His brother looker sheepish, afraid to speak,
until his wife said,’Why don’t you come see
your little nephew, his name is Carson.
He wants to see where his cousins come from!”
The young woman came forward, and Malcolm followed,
shame is his face, a very heavy load.
Booker just sighed once, and said there to him,
“Took you long enough, now come meet your kin…”
Copyright © David Welch | Year Posted 2018
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