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Faceless Encounter
| Open Poetry #42 |
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Faceless Encounter |
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Tomer Senior Member
since 2002-06-28
Posts 1168Michigan |
I saw his pale black cheeks, His pants were thin like grass And his eyes said, I’m sorry. Sorry like the fridges of his sweater Shaking at the winds crawl. His feet lay square on the street, And his wrangly hair waved to me, The same way that cars pass street signs, empty and faceless. His hands played with the ground, Playing with the dirt Like he was sitting in the backyard of a home, An island of calm, Instead of a cave Without a mother to sing his name, A father that doesn’t know his face, And he becomes a man quicker then I can slam my fists, To the pain I feel with him As my blonde streaks will never understand his black skin. |
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