UNCLES
They had broken teeth
And billy club scars
But we didn't notice
Or mind
They were uncles.
It was their job
To come home every summer
From the North
And tell my father
He wasn't no man
And make my mother
Cry and long
For Denver, Jersey City,
Philadelphia.
They were uncles.
Who noticed how
Much
They drank
And acted womanish
With they do-rags
We were nieces.
And they were almost
Always good
For a nickel
Sometimes
a dime.
[by Alice Walker, more to come ...]
--
╭─╮╭╮ ╭╮╮ ╭╮
│╰╯│╰╮╭╭╮│ │╭─╮╭ ╮│╰╮"At the touch of love everyone
╭╮││ ╯││││ │╭ │││││ ╯ becomes a poet."
╰─╯╰╰╯╰─│╰╯╯╰╰╯╰╰╯╰╰╯ -- Plato
───── ╰─╯ ─────────── http://darkshadows.org/~skyhawk ─
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