After the events of the past weeks, I was moved to write the following poem.
I generally prefer poetry to stand alone, but it behooves me to point out that St. Thomas is part of the US Virgin Islands where 76 percent of the population is of African descent. The rest of the inhabitants are mostly iguanas who disdain traffic laws.
•. •. •
Minority: A Poem
One day in another part of America
I encountered a stupid white person.
One who wanted to wear Righteousness.
She had said:
“Oh, I would never live in the South. There is so much racism."
I looked around there at two hundred souls. I saw only faces the color of my own.
She was privileged with education, but could not don righteousness as Job had.
(Job: long “o” – Job)
"… delivered the poor that cried,
and the fatherless,
and him that had none to help him."
It is my job to be Southern.
(job: short “o” – job)
I am from the New South.
I wanted to tell her,
"Half the people from my home are black."
“My wise and merciful Sheriff is black."
I held my tongue. I chose not to temper my existence.
I am glad that when I visited St Thomas
as I was learning to drive on the left side of the road
(thinking all the while: RIGHT is another word for CORRECT)
...I am glad that a jovial black man said to me.
“Don’t get caught DWW."
“What?” I asked.
"Driving While White."
We both knew the truth
And laughed, bitterly.
•. •. •
Let's be kind to each other in these coming days.