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

we lead.

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

most especially

to that brain which sits up in that head

that dwells their aching to be used.

Let it finally see some sun.

Trust me,

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