Funeral In New Orleans

 

The simple fact is
I slept with her a few times
And never saw her again.
She was black and I often wondered
If she slept with me because I was white.
A little experimentation. Because
In this town, back in the eighties
There weren’t many black girls
With white guys.

She died about a year later in a car accident.
I went to the funeral.
I was the only white guy there.
I sweated in my polyester suit
While everyone stared.
Maybe I shouldn’t have gone.
Maybe I was an embarrassment to the family.
I could tell by the look in their eyes
They knew why I was there.

 

​​Published in ​Vine Leaves Literary Journal