Vero Beach

He stood in the door – crowding its frame
His six children all over the faded yellow chair
as if they were ants indulging in candy
“Welcome to the land of the oppressed,” he said
his eyes twinkling like fireplace embers
“Maria, get your uncle something cold to drink,
Michael pull your pants up and go put on some shorts.”
He stepped aside, skin brown as a berry
“Black man,” he said as he clasped me in a familiar hug
“What the I want, my brudda?”

I had driven some three hours across the state
through desolate orange groves where the scent
of citrus was as pungent as sin. Through bracken-like
trees and small towns with names like Yahooville
A highway to promise and the American dream
sponsored by Chevrolet, Nissan, Dodge and Hyundai
A sun-drenched day as large lazy ravens circle above

Back in Vero Beach, squeals…