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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Population: White

My town, 

Not so much a town but a village. 

Good ol’ boys

And farmer’s daughters. 

Population approximately, 



We paint a picture of a small, quaint town

Where neighbors give a hand

And kids still say sir and ma’am. 

Mothers tell their children to quit fussin’ because there’s no good reason for it

And that is the most true thing I know to be. 


There is no fuss because we’re all the same.

All the same. 

All the same because we don’t take too kind to people who are different. 

This is my cultural background so

At eighteen when I saw a racial profiling instance

It was the first time in my life when right and wrong were held out in front of me and I had to ask,

Which way is it? 

Right seemed wrong 

But wrong was telling me it was right 

To say the least my entire world turned upside down that night. 


My friends stopped right next to me

As I sat there waiting like a doctor’s office, so patiently. 

Not understanding an inkling of the details but throwing hopeless wishes that it didn’t have to be this way. 

I’d only seen this on TV.

A couple scared kids stopped while their white friends were free. 


I didn’t understand it then 

And I can’t claim to understand it now 

Because I will always be allowed to be me. 

My town, 

A village full of parents who could never possibly wrap their intransigent brains around what the fuss was about. 

My town,

Population approximately,



Submitted: November 16, 2020

© Copyright 2020 Lance T. Lambert. All rights reserved.

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