Unwritten Text

Unwritten page A blank page on the word processor I ought to leave it this way just look at it and dream what I could have written. If I delete the words written, it will be a blank page again. No history on a crumpled-up sheet of paper in a wastebasket. For now, it is too late, but I might erase the page written if I so choose. All poems are if written with passion, great poems if not by the readers but by the poet, who boarded the wrong bus as my wife did in Johannesburg many years ago great was her consternation when stopping an available bus to find it was for black people. Being born in Congo by a black mother and a Dutch father she identified herself as black. Not so, said the authority she was Portuguese. Racism and ignorance, now it is the Moslems turn to feel the surge of hatred. We want the Moslems to behave like us, but they insist this is not possible in the name of their religion. What do I do now? Erase the story?