400
Ephraim splashed the mop on the floor; the sweet aroma burned inside his nostrils
Dipping the head inside the corrosive chemicals, painting them laterally on the floor like a renaissance artist
Gently dabbing his brow as he heard the whispers in the distance of conversing hostiles
He knew what they were discussing; for even he thought when this day came he would be mere fossils
I’ve been cleaning these floors for far too long, it seems even before I was born, he thought
Hardly ever heard “good job” just reluctant recognition and an occasional you missed a spot
These dry bones, whose grandfather’s father’s name and legacy lost
Sold by his brothers to suffer and serve, Deuteronomy’s curse of which now he pays the cost
His arthritic hands continued almost robotically so accustomed to being seen but unseen
He continued with a nod and a smile pretending not to listen as their dialogue convened
Their logic more diabolic than patriotic expressing resentment for this agenda and new face of policy
The undertones of their groans reminded Ephraim of the days when strange fruit dangled from trees
Ephraim could recall that season of sit downs, and marches, water hosing, dog bites more viscous than their barking
Church bombings, Vietnam, singing, “We shall overcome” and crosses burning in the darkness
COINTELPRO was the status quo, the assassinations of JFK his brother Robert, Malcolm and Martin
He’d seen so much injustice, so many accused and arrest falsely, just to be equal, but their hearts only hardened
His father slain, his sister defiled, his wife denied treatment during the birth of their 1st child, all this pain for what?
He managed to hold the water in his eyes, as he passed his co-workers by; their chatter came to a hush
Being polite he greeted them, yet most of them didn’t even speak to him, or even looked up
As Ephraim moved on his chest begin to burn and he felt a sharp pain in his gut as he asked himself, “Why do they hate us so much?”
