DANNY GLOVER'S GOT

NOTHING ON ME

Danny, try hailing a taxi
on the corner
of Lafayette and Spring
4:25 on a Friday evening

Danny, there I was, an African-American
smartly dressed, hair coiffed
makeup in place, shoes polished,
signaling for a cab

One cabbie said "off duty,"
then picked up a white couple
My blood pressure shot into the stratosphere
I recorded his license plate

and 10 others who whizzed by
One driver asked where was I going
When I said Henry Street Settlement
at Grand and Pitt, he puffed up his face,

scratched his beard, "The River?"
I asked why he asked me
Another cab, two Middle Eastern men
in the front seat said, "not working"

Danny Glover's got nothing on me
After 9/11, I naively expected to be perceived
as a human being, not someone whose ancestors
were forced to come here to build this country

Danny, I hopped on a bus to midtown,
dialed my friend, I wouldn't see her exhibit,
couldn't get a cab, going home. Vowing to tell the world,
I whipped out my pen, the cathedral of my soul   

Copyright 2006 by Juanita Torrence-Thompson