(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.
