the ride to the coast
was a treat like
being offered a reward
for good behavior
but we had to come back
like a segregated recluse
to the center of the
sugar patch
we did not know
that exclusion had
been forced
its policy implemented
on the sides of our
school buses
divided like main street
there grocery stores
were better than ours
we never saw a politician
they did not need our vote
back then
we lived as separate
as barricaded
as that dyke that
held back Lake
Okeechobee
if it were to flood
it did not matter
we were labeled migrant
labeled bean picker
labeled corn shucker
labeled celery setter
labeled pea sheller
labeled sanctified
like US 27
left abandoned
and yet we did
not feel it
because my mother
told me to go
ride your bike like the rest
of the children
I did not want to
but I did she watched
me from the window