In the days not too long past,
the whitest of white
sought to separate themselves from
the working class.
Men and women both splashed the white powdery ash
upon their face, lest they face the wrath and derision of a fellow
friend who might have thought they worked in the fields,
tolling with broken back in an honest man’s way all day.
Oh no, perhaps they might have caught a bit of sun that flitted through
a pane or two as they sat in their darkened parlor of a room.
The pallor of their skin showed the true sin, yet they knew it not.
For why could anyone every feign to believe that the mere
color of your skin could raise your station in this impartial life
Were that a fact, then by all means dunk me in a bucket of bright white and
send me out into the world to fight the good fight.
Ah, but we all to come to the party late, for you see,
dead is dead at the end of the day no matter the skin your in.
So dash off your clothes, fling them to the ground
whether you be white, yellow, brown,
black or chartreuse
Run down the beach with bare cheeks.
Soak it in.
From the bottom of your feet to your bum and all the way
to that brain which sits up in that head
that dwells their aching to be used.
Let it finally see some sun.
you will be happier in believing you
are not above it all when you come to
realize your are human just like me.
and will continue to be all the
more days to come.
by Philip Wardlow 2016