poetry
Leave a Comment

A Boy on the Playground

He’s quiet
He toddles
He watches, pensive, with fingers in mouth
His skin is dark
His hair is black with tight curls
He’s quiet

But he’s smart
He knows his people
He knows his sippy cup
He knows what he’s doing as 
he scoops up mulch and adds to the growing communal pile

A bigger boy, barely bigger than him, with light skin
picks him up and sets him out of the way
so that he can do his part, too
and pick up mulch and add it to the growing communal pile

He doesn’t fight
Just allows himself to be lifted
And set down
He toddles back,
continues on with his job as if nothing happened
and picks up mulch and adds it to the growing communal pile

The light colored boy’s fatherly figure comes
I think he tells him to stop picking up the smaller, dark colored boy,
out of respect, not out of him not wanting him 
to touch a boy with dark colored skin,
but so that the dark colored boy could play, too,
to pick up mulch and add it to the growing communal pile

O, how I loved how the light colored boy treated him just like a little brother
and gently picked him up and set him down
And, O, how I loved how the man cared enough
and told his boy to let the other boy be
But, O, how I loved him the most as

He was quiet
He toddled
He watched pensive and carefree, and waited
for his people to gently and quietly lead him
to wherever it was they were going next 


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s