Everyone else including the bus driver
is black. No one tells me to move to the back.
One North Charleston stop swarms
with white men — middle-aged & older —
twenty or more clog the sidewalk, some
carrying clipboards, no doubt scheming
to green the blight. Turbaned mothers
disembark with bead-sparkled daughters.
The men move apart. The bus lumbers on.
Mothers glower. Skipping singing girls
flow through the pale mist of men
as paint through chalk. No man smiles.
The colors passing leave no mark,
no grief at their leaving.
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