Cleveland Ave

Cleveland Ave It’s not that I had never seen her before, I’d seen her many times, no doubt. Always looking tired, but strong As the bus ran its afternoon route. Indeed I had noticed her hands, Skin worn with work, a warm shade of brown. Perhaps a seamstress, I was thinking She looked up and I looked down. What she was really like, her dreams and passions, I’ll never have the privilege to know. Of course, it’s my fault, Though society blames Jim Crow. That day, a man boarded the bus, Exercising the power of his race Expecting her to move As such was the requirement of her place. I had never seen it before, The sirens made their way from downtown. I smiled to myself, applauding her victory. She had won by simply staying down.