Another Autobiographical Poem - Beaumont, 1953

ed rosenthal
April 2, 2015

Although I have lived in California most of my life, I was born in Beaumont, Texas, and I lived in the Deep South until I was 12.  It was still the Jim Crow era in the South in those days, and many white people bore their prejudice like a badge of honor.   I was fortunate to have very enlightened and completely unprejudiced parents, who shielded me from most of the unpleasantness.  This poem is about what happened when I got old enough to walk to the neighborhood grocery store  (Weingarten's) by myself.


Beaumont, 1953

A nickel to spend at the store,
And permission to go by myself.
A wave of her hand at the door,
And I was off to the grocery store
With a sense of inventing myself.

I skipped every crack in the walk,
Which was paved to match up with my stride,
Turning right at the corner: a block
With two dentists, a vet and a doc,
And a gully where crawfish would hide.

Then on to the place where I shop,
(Now that I do it myself.)
To purchase a bottle of pop,
And wander the aisles till I drop,
And see what there is on the shelf.

I'm thirsty, so naturally, I
Climb up to the fountain to drink.
The steps are a little bit high,
But my throat is most awfully dry,
And I really need something to drink.

The manager's face gets quite red,
And he shouts with all of his might:
"Hey, kid, can't you read what it said?"
At the base of the fountain, I read:
"Colored," which didn't mean "White."

I ran all the way home from the store,
With a sense of original sin,
And a nickel to spend at the store,
And afraid to go back to the store,
And afraid of the evil within.

A blog about all the arts, including politics
"for 'twere absurd to think that nature in the earth bred gold, perfect in the instant;
there must be remote matter." - Ben Jonson
"I don't know what the question is, but art is the answer." - Guy Conner

linkedin facebook pinterest youtube rss twitter instagram facebook-blank rss-blank linkedin-blank pinterest youtube twitter instagram