Poems about Race
The diner reeks of sweaty booths
The ceiling fan has died.
Summer bakes the windows brown
Watching those around and I don’t care who sees
My pride and my effort to live being me
I join this march in hopes and praise,
that perhaps it will end these dark days.
I turn and see a group of people,
To be black or not to be black —— that is the question
Whether ‘tis wrong to have dark skin
And not be seen as a human,
America the brave still fears of what they don’t know? A culture founded from
Imagine walking shoeless with nothing to protect your feet
Being judged on the color of your skin
White signs in red writing won’t change the world,
Angry threats and harsh words hurled,