Mr. Africa Poetry Lounge!
BUCKWHEAT'S LAMENT
My family tells me this white gang I run with will
Grow up, and leave me behind. Our bones
Will change, and so will their affection. I will
Be a childlike man who lives in a shack. Just
Wait, they promise, my hair will become
Hoo-doo. The white girls will deny how we rassled,
What we saw. They laugh
Wait 'till you're grown. And I hear this sad place
At the middle of that word where they live,
Where they wait for my skin to go sour.
Written by Cornelius Eady
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