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bradley-gene-garberPoems
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
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Sep 30, 2016
Sep 30, 2016 at 9:34 PM UTC
American Immigrant
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
My first introduction to racism, in small-town Wisconsin, in about 1962
Written by
bradley-gene-garber
Lake Oswego, Oregon
Sep 30, 2016
Sep 30, 2016 at 9:34 PM UTC
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