soccer kids

That’s just what I thought those moments
In a warm mid-autumn twilight would be:
A racist’s nightmare.

The seventh grader, dark and short,
Now in the United States, earlier Veracruz,
Walks home with another seventh grader, light and tall.

Choir practice is over.
They’re selling candy bars for a music trip.

Her Spanish strong, English OK,
His English strong, Spanish OK.

Her vision – teaching.
His – engineering.

The street dips, then rises.

They walk up a knoll.

The school is behind.

At a nearby park, soccer practice –
Eight groups, age selected, kick and run,
And Spanish and English break the fading light.

A teen girl, tall and dark, a goalie,
Tracks down a loose ball, and kicks it high and away,
Long legs, goalie gloves ….

Twilight moves to dark;
The seventh graders must be home by now.
The soccer kids pull off plastic cleats,
Put on sneakers ….

Somewhere, hidden in trees
Must be a racist, even several,
Hating – deep within – those hopeful bursts ….

Eugene “Gene” Novogrodsky, mid-November 2012

Author: Editor


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One Response to Racist’s Nightmare

  1. Melba says:

    Dear Gene,
    It was great seeing you and your multitalented wife! I will be wearing my new necklace to church this week. Your poem was inspiring! It reminded me about how where we live matters and that we need to pay attention to those around us and realize we make history daily along the Rio Grande border, wall or no wall! Thanks for sharing!!


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