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White lips, turned down, Whisper... "Who she think she is? Not one of us... Sure not one of us." And I'm thinking What a funny bus this is. Looks like part of A Zebra's hide from Where I stand, inside. Stripes of white Look down the aisle at me. One pair of eyes, A glare of blue, spook me Right down through my knees. Hot black bodies squeezed In tight, fill the back. Dark images saturate the light Squeezing tighter still To make a space for me. "Hey Missy!" The driving Blue eyes shout. A cigar Hand, waving me up front, He yells, "You can't sit In the back of the bus." Startled, I choke out, "I always do." Next Stop he turns about and Rumbles, "Whites up front, Them's the rules..." "Since when," I mumble. A lady pats my hand with Hers of black. "Young'in We understands. Best Ya'll Get up front, behind the man." Silently I debate. I'm too scared to move, Too young to argue, And much to small to Fight his stupid rule. Sticky wet heat runs Down my neck as I stumble To the front. Sitting down Behind the blue eyed man I wish I wasn't ten. The door slams open. Relieved, I'm glad to see Downtown West Palm Beach, Burdines, Anthonys and My Aunt Lee. Standing on the street I puzzle at the fuss. Maybe I should have my aunt Report that bus And get back my money. Aunt Lee takes my hand As I tell her about the Blue eyed man who does not Understand that all of a bus Belongs to all of us. I ask, "Could that man Really be so dumb? Where could he be from?" She looks down at me In her sweet, worried way. Sighing she softly whispers, "Child, don't talk so loud. You're in the South now and I hate to say It's still different here." I look around and see The town's a Zebra too! At the bus stop One bench is black and One is white. I hold her hand And close my eyes so tight Thinking I can make The pictures disappear Because I know They just aren't right! Sandy Lulay, originally from Woodstock, New York, is a resident of Stuart, Florida. Lulay is an "Original Woodstock Girl" who has been writing poetry since age ten. Many of her poems have been published both in Woodstock and Stuart's Sleeping Bear Review. She is currently working on a collection of poems that express the true soul of Woodstock, America's first art colony. Please, DO NOT steal, scavenge or repost this work without the expressed written authorization of Swans, which will seek permission from the author. This material is copyrighted, © Sandy Lulay 2001. All rights reserved. No part of this material may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher. |
This Week's Internal Links
A Hot Rain's A Gonna Fall - by Michael W. Stowell
The Other War Criminals - by Sanjay Basu
Genocide or Veracicide: Will NATO's Lying Ever Stop? - by Stephen Gowans
Not Only Are They Demons, Serbs Are Imbeciles - by Gilles d'Aymery
The Circle of Deception: Mapping the Human Rights Crowd in the Balkans - by Gilles d'Aymery
The Fabrication and Dissemination of Deception - by Gilles d'Aymery
Beneath the Cloaking Device - by Michael W. Stowell
How Much is Enough? - by Milo Clark
Please Be Patient IV - by Milo Clark
Sandy Lulay's Poems and Commentaries on Swans
REMEMBER ME (July 2001)
ROBOT MINDS (June 2001)
SWEET CHERRY WINE (June 2001)
ESCAPE (May 2001)
BLACK SHEEP PASSING (May 2001)
Earth Day: American Myth? (April 2001)
TIDES (April 2001)
THAT SUNDAY FEELING (April 2001)
SOMEWHERE (March 2001)
SAVANNA SONG (March 2001)