Black and White

Sometimes I'd rather that my soul has never seen...

The blue of the seas,

The orange of the dawn,

Even the red stains of ketchup my son put on his

Toast (tan) and broccoli (green)

When he was too young to know what

"Gauch" means.

I'd like to think my soul never cared

About the black skin of the boy who lived behind me in Huntsville, Alabama

Behind the railroad tracks

He couldn't cross

Back in the 60's.

Maybe now.

But my soul, maybe colorblind?

Wasn't the reason I couldn't play with him.

That makes me wonder if my soul would see his blackness

Now

That's I've been raised

White.