We never spoke
He was just a statistics my went over
As our car rode pass
Did not want to blow my cover
I am emerging middle class.
And he
Still a young man
Abandoned to his blackness -
A living sample of a whole generation
Lost in our snottiness
Why did I look at him so long
Was something familiar misplaced
In the cloud of my mirror?
He had no where to put his hands
His pockets were nervous, shivering
I guess the presence
Of his hands bothered them too
This is Conway
And from this mountain I see mist
No dreams - a very significant fact
Amidst the sprawl of white
Cotton littering the eyes -
I passed another crop behind ...
Tobacco, something to clear the mind
These are farming folks, well mannered too
Family grows green here and jubilant
I flog my mind to comprehend
The passive air of contentment
Within boundaries frazzled with history
Here is a young man without knowledge of it
Mirror of self
Map of today and tomorrow
Here is apathy to the pall of sorrow
This a cul-de-sac of memory
He chews his tobacco hungrily
Categories:
snottiness, black african american, history,
Form: Free verse