Bad Manners
Dear Reader,
The poet offers up this poem with no further comment.
Who raised them to enter your house without wiping their feet?
Who raised them to enter your house and not speak?
Who raised them to be like that?
Their manners are bad Auntie.
I am ashamed for them,
Coming to sit at your table
Demanding to be fed
Arrogant and calling you names.
Auntie you just smiled and told us not to fret
You cooked that meal and served sweet tea in the high tall glasses.
And then, we all watched as they choked on their exceptionalism and gasped for air.
We offered up thoughts and prayers
Our empathy tucked away for safekeeping.
And then you told them people,
“My kitchen is closed.”
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