The Color of My Life

The white kids in class
Call me their token black
Or a word not so kind
And point to me as proof
We're integrated
But one black boy doesn't
Cut it.
They recruit me for basketball
Another form of slavery
So I wipe my sweat on them and
Drunk the ball over their too small hands.
Girls corner me behind the cafeteria
Make me pull down my pants
To see if it's true
Which it is
But they are scared of me
Or their parents are.
Teachers are proud to have me
Like a cut that needs a Band-Aid.
I don't know what my parents are thinking
Or what they intend to prove
Through me.
I just want to get educated
Get a job one day.
Mr. Drearson says not to let it get me down
To wear my darkness proudly.
He is trying to make a point with me
Which I appreciate
But he does it to get closer to god
Or the person he thinks he should be.
He cares enough OK
But he should stick to geometry
And leave the part that is the color my life
To me.

 © Poem Fix 2012
Image:  John Vachon for U.S. Farm Security Administration

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