On Beale
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Little brown boys did backflips in the street.
The cheers were endless, but I could not find
one brown smile to match the level of old,
white excitement the crowd threw at them.
An old black man was selling pineapples
in small individual packages
For really cheap, like two dollars a bag.
His tired eyes met mine, ones that had not yet
noticed that I was the only brown face
on the brick street that wasn’t selling.
As I walked down Beale with two white girls, one
to my left and one to my right, I felt
like maybe I should be out there backflip-
ping to life or selling some sweet, bagged fruit.
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