Bologny and White Bread

by Idalia Willis

I watch him drudge toward the door each day.
Sad faced, kissing my cheek he would say,
"Baby I love you have a good day."
"Things will get better baby," he would say.
Doing the only thing he can, babies on my hips,
I put a lunch sack in his hand.
Tired of bologny and white bread,
he looks back at this children and hangs his head.
As he shuts the door,
He's wondering how to endure.
How much longer will he be poor?
He sits in his broken down car,
A another black man scarred.
Peaking in his lunch,
He murmurs, "what's this junk?"
"I'm tired of bologny and white bread!"
He hangs his head.
"It's not like I'm not working hard
and still my family is starved."
"Is this what life is all about for me?
I thought us blacks had been set free!"
He better get to work, he better not be late!
How can he escape his oppressed state?
They make it hard for a black man to get ahead.
I thought that slavery was truly dead.
But, slavery is just as alive as it can be.
Society won't take these chains off of me.
"Five o'clock and now it's home I head.
I better stop by the store
and pick-up some more bolongy and white bread.

Bologny and White Bread by Idalia Willis

© Copyright 2002. All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be duplicated or copied without the expressed written consent of the author.

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