The black man plays the harmonica
Delta blues that hover like drones in the air
And those droning sounds are a strain of patience
As resilient as a dromedary camel on a dessert
The hump and hoofs that make long journeys
Short and the distance between two points
A straightening line.

Forbearance is a little leash on emotions
The usual suspects – resistance and wrath
Sitting in the back seat of a bus
Waiting to feel the muscle
Of each foot moving with no connection
To the other.

Patience is the black man’s song
That streams past packed cotton pods
And makes peanuts rise from the understory
Of a Tuskegee farm. And that tireless song
Sculpts an apple that gets bigger with time,
Closing in on an elusive bite.

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