Where were you when my father decided to move
to a neighborhood that had better schools?
Where were you when I peeked out the window
and saw no one like me, just glazed blue eyes minus the Afro?

Where were you when I was arrested under a blue sky?
My crime? Sitting outside my home, eating a moon pie.
I was held under arrest for loitering on my own father’s steps.

That beautiful red castle, bought with the sweat of my dad. He was bold to have those visions of the American dream. No picket fence, but plenty of geraniums mimicking and small flamboyans swaying. Our neighbors greeted us with looks of scorn. “Spic, go home."