Helping Momma carry groceries after a long wait in line,
I spot a water fountain but can’t read the sign.
Parched, I run to it, unaware of my crime,
The water here is just so much colder than mine.
But lots of screaming and a slap in the face,
Is just enough to “put me in my place.”
Momma grabs my hand and picks up the pace,
She reminds me we’re designated an inferior race.
A little white girl asks me if I want to play ball,
Then her mother comes dashing, completely appalled.
She says to her child that they don’t know where I’ve been,
And my talking to her was a punishable sin.
She tells her girl that she simply doesn’t understand,
But somehow I think she understands more than they can.
The white children lucked out and get to have all the fun,
But what kind of race decides I lose when I haven’t even run?