The Son

(For the Night of November 4, 2008)

The late economist's son made it.

A historic return in the worst marketplace

Under millions of stars and flashlights,

the sweat on his face sparked

as if the light of knowledge

finally came out from a crystal ball

He asked himself, "Did my father cry?"

It was not long ago when his skin color,

or his father's, or his people's

would define what they could be

From early on he sensed the chosen,

seized the opportunities

and worked hard for it

His old school charm smile and

immaculate teeth defied prejudice

Fended off ghetto karma

When he posed at the podium

He didn't lose his mind

Nor rally frenzied supporters

The speech was calm and somber

The gratitude was mellifluous

Like spring rain soaked in to nourish

this dry and decaying land

Trust would be repaired, he was convinced

Like flowers would blossom, as if

With all the success, he still secretly hoped

his father would shed tears of joy

for him.