Freedman's Town
 
A ghostly rarefied
late afternoon light
hangs over Freedman's town
the original blackman's Houston crucible
the silence full of voices singing the blues.
 
The cafes are boarded up – waiting for fresh graffiti
eerie streets  now empty after
Rita's almost seductive and elusive visit
 
Little black feet with white souls
that once giggled down the cobblestones
have been replaced by weeds
growing through crippled pavement
that is no longer walked upon
the aborted seeds of white man greed
and destruction
 
Elsewhere, butting up without asking
Baked red condominiums rise
Like new-born cardboard castles
the freshly planted shafts of progress pregnant
as I ride my groaning industrial bike
down avenues without people
in search of food
 
Not in the mood for artifice
and relishing every aching turn
of the wheel –
 I gaze upon a blazing purple sunset
and the descending
blanket of twilight
that will  send me off to
to the week’s first tranquil sleep
amidst this sense
that all will change
even as nothing seems right.
 
FD. 9.24.05