Soweto in My Pocket

Itching behind my father’s advice
don’t say anything son
it’s not like Nairobi
don’t speak out
not even on the phone
it might be tapped
I fingered Soweto in my pocket,
A prickly fossil to be savored
Like the Southern Lights.

No cotton mouth African thirst
Ever made me question Hiskia or Anna
(little white boy on their heels)
But what I let them tell me
Whatever they would…

boy when my people rise boy
they might want to kill you boy
i will not stop them
I cannot stop them
you are white boy
they are my people


Copyright 1990 by Jeffrey Spahr-Summers.