On Her Way To Ferguson - a poem
On Her Way To Ferguson
On her way to catch the bus
she met a wheel-chaired cop on the way;
he'd been a first responder on 9/11 -
he'd lost both legs that September day.
Another time she might have mentioned
her brother had been among the saved;
but the bus waited, she had to go
so she ran past and only waved.
“No time to talk, I have to run,
they need me down in Ferguson.”
On her way as she rode the bus
she met a senior traveling that day,
Imminent domain had taken her home,
with relatives the lady now had to stay.
Another time she might have said,
What sacrifice to build a solar panel plant you've bled!
But the woman was white, and had her health
so as she switched buses, she only said,
“No time to talk, I have to run,
they need me down in Ferguson.”
While exiting the final bus
she passed a couple headed far,
with two beautiful kids and a baby, too,
leaving from what they called “the war”.
But she was there, the place to be,
Where the looters looted, a curfew was enacted,
where the hungry media feasted
and she, as other caring activists, acted.
Another time, she would spare concern
for why they looked so weary this August day;
of this she deemed they surely knew
as she smiled sweetly and was heard to say,
“No time to talk, I have to run,
my empathy brought me to Ferguson.”
©August 22, 2014 by Beth Perry
