HE WAS HOOKIE
It was just past two in the afternoon.
He came up to me and put his hand out and said,
“I’m Hookie.”
I knew he was.
He’d already told me twice that morning.
Then he leaned in and whispered to me,
“I’m not a racist. I hate everybody the same.”
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment