THE FINAL BUS.

AN AFRICAN AMERICAN GIRL AT A BUS STOP.

I wait for the final bus, said Sassy,
The moon kisses my youthful head with its
Silvery lips, the chill wind bites my dark

Fingers and toes, the ticking of time tastes
My flesh like a lizard’s tongue. I wait in
The glass bus shelter, the glass reflects my

Youth and skin, the shadows have potential
Rapists, muggers, and nightmares foes, each step
I take betrays the fears I breed and feed,

Each touch of wind a killer’s bloody hand,
A whispered threat. I sit and feel the hot
Branding of my forebears’ limbs, the slaves

Who haunt my dreams and speak my tongue, I am
The child of slavery, I hear the chains
Rattle as I speak, I feel the white man’s

Touch across my back, the glass opposite
Reveals me female and black.  I wait for
The last bus that does not come, the chilly

Wind nibbles the tips of my toes, echoes
The voice of centuries, the kiss of God
Where the African American goes.
              

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

The battle for equality is still alive and well. We can't allow the death of so many people to be lost. I like the vision you create with this poem. I was raised in Detroit. I was living 4 blocks away from where the riots started. It is sad we need revolution to change the USA. I hope we get on a better path today. Separation of rich and poor is expanding. A excellent poem. I pray for better days.
Coyote

[Narnie]

You continue to inspire me with your poetry. Your take on the everyday - the ability to weave a story from an image - is masterful.