* * *
The Man With a Scar,
A Poem About Prejudice
He was coming at me
Walking his ugly dog
On my street.
He was scarred and ragged
Uncombed and unwashed.
I saw no escape,
There was no avoidance
On the narrow path.
Would the dog attack?
Would the man cuss and spit?
Is that a weapon under his coat?
I spoke, but it was just a reflex
"Good morning."
He stopped.
His gravelly voice was full
Of cheer and honesty;
His handshake
Was warm and friendly.
"I am well, young fella.
How are you on this beautiful day
That
The Good Lord has given us?
His gentle charm was brightness,
His words were kindness.
After a few moments
Even his dog seemed less ugly
And when he walked away
I watched him go
Thinking that
I hope we meet again
Soon.
(c) A.E. Dozat 8/10/5
