Another poem this week, probably the last one for a while. The title pretty much sums it up, but when I first heard this several years ago it really stuck with me, and then there was a conversation in our car (not involving me) that kind of collided with it, and I wrote a poem in response – which, I guess I’m going to post below?
Happy on-coming weekend. Hold your loved ones close; reach out to a stranger and show them you care <3
A Conversation
The set:
A moving vehicle
ten over eighty
on a sunbright morning
a steel grey afternoon
a shining, shimmering night.
The cast:
A husband, thirty-five;
competent driver.
A son, three and five
weeks, back seat critic.
And me. Observer.
Recorder.
The script:
“Go faster, Daddy! Go faster!”
Ten, we recall, over eighty.
“Can’t, son. The policeman
would tell me off.”
A pause. Consideration.
“The policeman would tell you to stop?”
“Yes, son, he would. And
if a policeman tells you to stop,
what do you do?
“You stop, Daddy.”
“You do. The policemen are there
to help you.”
The observation:
My heart
crumpling in my chest
crushed because
my son is white.
For him,
the policemen will always help.