American Race Song
       

Something's wrong with your soul
if it won't swoon when Sam Cooke sings,
It's been too hard livin', but I'm afraid.
And when you hear it I hope you think
of dogs and how they can't see shades
and if for this they are beloved
of those who light the lamps that line
the blood procession's route.

The side your skin is on depends
on the day your papa had
when you were ten, his words
for colors who cut him off and left
you three score years to think of them
as them who'd knock you on your knees
as soon as take your hand.

You will have to last too long
to drink the breath and sweat
of love that lingers in your throat
like dust of a planet you never see
on nights when you leave the little tent
by a river that used to be time
to understand how natives spoke
the night before they sent
their painted parties out
to greet horizon's dots and dance
the rhythms of distant smoke.

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Copyright © 2022 George Guida All rights reserved
from Zen Of Pop
Long Sky Media
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission