In my neighbors house fiction began, When I pulled up to tour a house for sale…
My certified pre-approval should have been all that mattered.
Not my loud music, gold chain, long hair or Jordan shoes…
Elders and children have no filter or reserve, incontinence of the mind…
Was it racism thinly disguised, or had the dementia taken his mind…
What does your kind do, cause we don’t want no drugs of any kind… I still hear it now…
Needing the space for my wife and four kids, I swallowed my pride…
I laughed it off, but that label made my soul cry…
The addiction that has riddled my family, and distance myself in large strides…
I’m still seen as a peddler, because my image apparently speaks for itself.
As time would pass my character prevailed…
Cutting their grass, and helping around the house.
Picking up the husband off the floor, when no one else would help.
Shoveling snow, and changing tires… now the wife compliments my kids, and sings my praises higher…
Crazy how things can shift… when you listen and shut your prejudice lips…
Because now we are good friends… and even exchange Christmas gifts…
But we only get one first impression, and theirs wasn’t kool..
But rising above hate, is the basics that should be taught at home and school…
Wood Shed Writers 
Leave a comment