My Guys

A POEM

My Guys resemble the Mocha complexion of my skin,

or my son's Bronze complexion,
because we are all of varied blends.

My Guys were missing from my grade school's text.
No daily learning of my Guys' achievements.
My Guys, being missing, gave my mind a thought,
Why are we here? What did we do
in this land for us all?

My Guys never mentioned gave me no true hope.
Though I never Knew there were Tales to know.
My Guys were missing until a flick of a page
when I gazed upon a Mocha complexion
which sent My mind into a glorious daze.
George Washington Carver
was the Guy I had found.
George Washington Carver
made My third grade heart
deeply proud ....

Still, ... Teachers taught misinformation about My Guys during WARS
keeping our minds in clouds.
We were informed My Guys were not capable of fighting or truly helping in WARS for this country.
They cleaned the toilets.
They served the White Officers, and they .... My Mind drifted off.
My Guys!
My Guys!
My Mind escaped in flight!
Abandoning hope was becoming my Plight.

My Guy, My maternal Great Uncle was an Alcoholic Sort.
He once spoke when he slumbered,
and his words gave me a jolt.
"Get down. They shot Charley
in the head!!!
My mouth fell opened in shock as I began to believe
My Guy, My Great Uncle, was dreaming of his combat in Germany.
My Guy, My Great Uncle sounded so scared.
My Guy seemed to suffer in an isolated nightmarish fear.
Having recurring dreams of his military combat in Germany.

I informed my mother of My Guy,
her maternal Uncle's dream like haunts.
She refused to believe I witnessed the screams of his combative actions during WORLD WAR II.
She refused to go up against what she also was taught. No My Guy her Uncle could not have fought.

One day My Guy, My Great Uncle visited his niece, My Mom.
After they had lunch, My Mother cleaned,
and My Guy, My Great Uncle went to the basement
for some quick Zzzs.

As My Mother cleaned the ... dishes she heard a harrowing scream from below.
She ran down to the basement and watched in disbelief
as My Guy, Her Uncle, Screamed of his combat all while he
was Deep in sleep.
My Guys resemble the Mocha complexion of My skin,
Or My son's Bronze complexion, because
we are all varied blends.

My Guy, My Son, was informed his Mother was a cheat.
His teacher was in disbelief that his paragraphs were coherent and succinct.
My Guy, My Son tried to explain that his Mother was a writer and to check out the Hubpages.
My Guy, My Son gave another plead, and the uncomfortable proof of my business card advertising where to go to check out my written deeds. Image if your child had to figuratively get on his knee and beg his third grade teacher to believe his Mother was not a Cheat.

My Guys resemble the Mocha complexion of My skin,
Or My son’s Bronze complexion, because
We are all varied blends.

My Guys fought hard for their part in the American Dream,

though they were denied, because of the color of their skin.

Yes,

My Guys resemble the Mocha complexion of My skin,

Or My son’s Bronze complexion, because

We are all varied blends.

See,

My Guys are Our Guys.
They Are Americans.

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