he asked me where the bus was headed
and i wanted to pretend that i didn't know
so that i didn't have to speak.
i know this stop here is hell.
you can tell 'cause the
black brothers and sisters' skin
are ashen with sin -
they're no longer egyptian.
or so goes the prophecy
from that man across the street.
our futures here are bleak.
just look at you, sister,
wallowing, shuffling your feet,
act like you know where you're going
not like you've got chains around your ankles,
links of you harboring all of your defeats.
he asked me again where the bus was headed
and as i turn sharply to respond, maybe tell my lie,
i'm softened by a smooth brown face, his hazel eyes,
one blue in it's hue and the other more green -
something so heavenly on a day so mean.
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