He walked off the yellow bus
the young “black” man
the first, his pack
full of what a mother would pack

to taunts, surrounded

gulls around a struggling fish
coyotes on a newborn calf
sharks ready to clean things up

this was Wisconsin
not Birmingham, Selma, Biloxi

No one called him “African-American”

I remember him as cute
I remember him as friendly
I remember him scared
I remember him gone

What word, what experience
what tears?

The proud father, craving peace
warm earth, simple animals
fresh green plants from the soil
protection for his son

Sold the farm and returned to Chicago