Home Grown Pirates

Boxed in
and filled with sand
like a dry ocean
the towering
creosote soaked pillions
take the form 
of an old shipwreck
with riggings, planks
and a captain's wheel.
Paid by the commons
for the children to enjoy.
"Aye scalawags all aboard,"
shouts a portly 
pint size scoundrel.
Hence heed the call 
and came skipping
from his yard
none other than
six year old Suleiman.
"Halt boy,
There are no black pirates"
says the patched eye 
little thug
within ear shot 
of his parents.
Keeping the world of thievery
squarely in the domain
of whitey.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2005

Poem

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