These Days of Prejudice
I took early tea on that fair and rosy morning,
arranged my hair as best I could, and not being
a profoundly handsome person, I chose attention
through discontent. It made some smile, that
and my music. I’m told that I have rhythm,
which if I played the tuba might serve me well.
But I play the piano. And on that morning while
I played at playing music, I heard amiable voices
in the doorway. Sounds of recognition, smiles
and greetings passed. She carried paper matches
and dried lavender, and lingered as if to enliven
dismal weather. But we are born into inherited
hatreds, promised, possessed, and perennially
hopeless. So I hide the children away like coins,
just in case what they say about gypsies is true.
It’s how we play through these days of prejudice.
Found text from Bleak House by Charles Dickens