Saturday, October 10, 2015


The matter for the metaphor is vibrant : all
bright things seen in color. Not some 1923 
street with jumpy-moving, top-hatted men
wandering all up and down. No, this is colored 
and gentle; guys sitting in the Pullman car, with
their newspapers and cigars, while Porters bring
coffee. Black men aspiring. Walking the line while
at the same time on the train that's running. Two
times the drive. Get where you're going quicker.
With one eye I scan the vista running out alongside 
of me : the rolling of distant hills, here and there 
the small jaggedness of little towns. Steeples and
courthouses; that town-center bandstand where the 
brass band plays. Horses and a parade. Then.
This car is a mixed bag of white. The only one
colored here need not apply, and just keep serving
the goods  -  bring me this, and bring me that
  -  for maybe someday your own time will come.

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