Three Meter Zone | JD's Bunker | Poetry | Chapel | American Journal


The Bus

Frank Goodman

 

Bus driver, take me to integration.

Where I must improve race relations

And practice assimilation.

Where my face and color will generate new laws

New rules

New prejudices

New Stereotypes

Where I must jump over hurdles and run into walls.

Bus driver, take me to integration.

So I can grow up confused about who I am

Because integration threw my heritage into the slam.

Bus driver, take me to integration.

Where I am expected to act slow

In this cell of color

To achieve some more.

Bus driver, take me to integration.

So, I can hear about equal opportunity and fair treatment

Where it is difficult to keep my hands on the U.S. paper mint.

Bus driver, take me to integration

Where I must prove myself to be law abiding

With the same people who have been stealing and lying.

Bus driver, take me to integration

Where my anger has a label

"Black Rage!" in this colored stable.

Where I must accept subtle and overt racism and discrimination

All for the name of integration.

Bus driver, take me to integration

Where I can enter front doors

Only to be watched by people in the stores.

Bus driver, take me to integration

Where White crime

Is separate from

Black crime.

Where rich crime

Is separate from

Poor crime.

Where the poor person's crack

Will cause more time

Than the white cocaine's sack.

Bus driver, take me to integration

Where I must change my ways

And realize, I still have a place

At the back of the bus

With a smile on my face.

 

 

© Frank Goodman