Office so plush with IBM
on the desk top
carpet, cabinets
lumbar chair, & laptop
for travel;
a glass door shuts out voices
& ringing phones
Each morning I drop
off my blackness at the door
Every “t” and “s” enunciated.
In the P.M. I pick up my blackness
& go home to Romare Bearden
paintings,
to Aretha, Coltrane, & Billie
& greens, black eyed
peas and ham hocks
I turn, turn again, & turn back.
copyright (c) 2004 Joyce Evans-Campbell
