_dusty Dafremen R. Dafremen Dusty roads A bit too dusty I suppose Against the brightly colored houses That form a canyon of the boulevard Against the muffled sound of shiny steeds All crimson, purple, gold and green Chromed and oiled the wheels converge The warriors have arrived Masking the children in their eyes They wear their pride like crowns These ebony princes These stoic riders Huddled in that mass of rubber Steel and open toes Their plans to lead the open road Are formed in haste Mustn't waste time For the sunset calls too soon And dusty biker kings have mother queens Drawing their baths at home With dinner too And so they plan their ride. Faint at first The sound of creaky desperation, loneliness One-footed push along the lane Headed toward their throng Acting like there's nothing wrong They turn their heads Behold, a princess comes Upon her flat-black scooted mount An ivory paradox To lovely to be ugly I suppose Yet too different to be one of them With that freckled pointed nose And steel blue eyes Perched upon her slow and muddied ride So weak inside Approaching they look upon her As cats might view the fall Seems as though they've none at all But there's a casual interest in her movements A quickly fading freakshow fascination. They turn to go Not even waiting there to know If she would ride There isn't time enough for them To even chide her muddiness To deride her scooter's sillyness No time to point to rosy drink stains On her dress And laugh the mighty laugh They know will strike her down There is no time to see her frown Or watch her cry No time to watch the tears wash dirt Out of the corners of her eyes No urge again to watch her die Curl up and blow away inside There is no time to taunt this girl Just time to ride. And so they ride The humming coming From the tires along the lane Announces warrior princes on a quest She almost hears the laughter Underneath their breath As they turn to go Still so far away that she can't catch them So she knows All alone to greet another sunset come Another shunned and sickly self-esteem To match her dusty clothes She turns and heads Tears on her cheeks One-footed down the road Clenching dust between her toes And I suppose It's somehow just that in this world A white and lonely little girl Somehow some way Should come to feel a black man's pain. 030406 what's it to you? who go blather from