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Ahlberg, Allan | Ahvenjärvi, Juhani | Angelou, Maya | Bakhtiar, Shireen | Beatty, Paul | Boland, Eavan | Brooks, Gwendolyn | Brown, Sterling | Bryant, Dana | Chapman, Tracy | Clifton Read, Lucile | Coleman, Anita Scott | Coleman, Wanda | Cullun, Countee | Dashiell, J.M. | Dove, Rita | Dylan, Bob | Evans, Mari | Gaines, Reg E. | Giovanni, Nikki | Goldbarth, Albert | Harper, Michael | Hayden, Chris | Hayden, Robert | Jordan, June | Lorde, Audre | Madhubuti, Haki R. | Mc Kenty, Bob | Moore, Richard | Reed, Ishmael | Salt'n'Pepa | Sayar, Keyvan | Scott-Heron, Gill | Shakur, Tupac | Sinervo, Helena | Stevens, Cat | Teasdale, Sarah | The Sugarhill Gang | Walcott, Derek | Walker, Alice | Walker, Margaret | Williams, Saul | Wyclef Jean | Young, Al
Coleman, Anita Scott
The Shinging Parlor
It was a drab street
A white man's street . . .
Jammed with automobiles
Streetcars and trucks;
Bee-hived with fruit vendors' stalls,
Real estate concerns, meat shops,
Dental clinics, and soft drink stands.
It was a drab street
A white man's street . . .
But it held the shining parlor--
A boot-black booth,
Commandeered by a black man,
Who spent much time smiling out
Upon the hub-bub of the thoroughfare.
Ever . . . serenely smiling . . .
With a brush and soiled rag in his hands.
Often . . . white patrons wait for
Their boots to be "shined,"
Wondering the while
At the wonder--
Of the black man's smile.
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Black baby
The baby I hold in my arms is a black baby.
Today I set him in the sun and
Sunbeams danced on his head.
The baby I hold in my arms is a black baby.
I toil, and I cannot always cuddle him.
I place him on the ground at my feet.
He presses the warm earth with his hands,
He lifts the sand and laughs to see
It flow through his chubby fingers.
I watch to discern which are his hands,
Which is the sand. . . .
Lo . . . the rich loam is black like his hands.
The baby I hold in my arms is a black baby.
Today the coal-man brought me coal.
sixteen dollars a ton is the price I pay for coal.--
Costly fuel . . . though they say:
-- If it is buried deep enough and lies hidden long enough
'Twill be no longer coal but diamonds. . . .
My black baby looks at me.
His eyes are like coals,
They shine like diamonds.
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