2020 Poems


The bus met
In front of my school
Every morning —
Campus was 3 blocks
From my house
I walked there
Every day
Got on the bus
And was driven
Across Lubbock
Past the cotton fields
Past the smelly
Seed oil plant
To the “Black School”
At 7, I knew not
Of the segregated
Racist past that
My town was mandated
To reckon with
I was just a kid,
Scared and in a
Strange school
Where books were few
And school supplies
Were in my backpack
Bought at the Piggly Wiggly
Close to our house
If only they had told us
That we could have been
Instruments of change.

By Makar

Stephen Sutherlin is a designer, poet and musician. He writes poetry about life in the southwest and enjoys metrical lyricism.

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