Two Worlds on the Same Planet

First stop was
the North End Terminal
in Memphis—
hundreds of
dark skinned
men, woman, and children
waited as busses
came and went.
Occasionally someone would
see someone familiar,
and they'd catch up a bit.

He'd sell
a cigarette
for a couple of quarters
(we used to give them away—
but they were cheap then).

Their bus would come
and they'd board it,
with difficulty,
for the bus might stop anywhere
along a long driveway,
and they'd have to run
to catch it.

A big man, hunched over,
sweeping up the cigarette butts,
and straws, and wrappers
(as Sisyphus rolled the boulder
up the hill) .
He'd try hard
to keep
the waiting area
clean,
but it seemed to gather debris faster
than he could
work.

Another man, with a battery powered
wheelchair and guide dog, boarded a
bus with a ramp. Someone came up to him to
ask him about his dog.

A woman, three hundred pounds,
at least, had a neck brace.
I asked her
if she was in a car accident.
"No," she said, "I fell down the stairs."

An hour later, my bus arrived at
the airport.
I was the only light-skinned
one to board
and the sole rider
to made the entire journey.

At the airport there were almost
no dark-skinned ones,
and no man
sweeping cigarette butts.
Planes were coming and going,
with covered carpeted
conditioned walkways
leading to each plane.

Two worlds in the same day.

A very successful exec.
in pre-washed designer jeans,
spoke confidently and endlessly
to a rash of associates
on his cell.

His conversations were
broadcast to all.
He tried to get comfortable
on the airport seats,
slouched this way and that,
with one foot on the table
between
his seat and the next.

Two worlds on the same planet.