One Boulder morning my Jewish girlfriend and I reflected,

What about those dark abodes of Eastern Europe,

Those Ghettos created from hatred and jealousy

Where history demands and requites bigotry

Where god redeems those that snarl and howl their emptiness?

 

And what of my Southern escape

Where decades of smallness towards blacks has smudged theirs hearts

With the darkest and thickest soul sludge?

Petrified rancid bigotry.

Their children and their god

Pour that bitter goo over decades and generations

And they live in that cesspool

With a pride that can’t be fathomed in it’s howling emptiness

And desolate swampy history.

They sink and bask in their long decaying demise

And every breath they take reinforces that humanitarian devastation.

 

And what of the Kennedy?

Who was he?

What moved him?

At the pinnacle of this hatred and bigotry

His knife cut through that dark sludge,

This knife that cut him to pieces.

And yet in the face of that Goliath

He went to their sunken core and demanded by law that their children play and learn with blacks.

What ideals in the face of democratic butt kissing causes a man like this to change the tide of history?

And was he the last of his kind?

Where are those idealists that don’t dream but stand firm against the dark tide of history

And rain fresh water into polluted, cultural soul sludge

So that flowers can once again sprout in that dark swamp

And once again, yet for a while, humanity can again be redeemed?