Poem –  Working Class Hero – Alice Walker.

My brothers knew 

The things you know. 

I did not scorn 

learning them; 

It’s just my mind 

Was busy being trained 
For “Other Things”: 
Poetry, Philosophy, Literature. 

Survival, for a girl. 
But now, 

What a relief 

To see you understand 

The ways 

Of horses 

Their shyness 

& hatred 

Of 

Loneliness: 
That you will not 

Hesitate 

To rescue 

An old horse, 

Dying on 
His feet 

That you will 

Cheerfully 

Wash him, 

Aged 

Incontinent 

Head 

To 

Toe. Missing 

With your bucket 

Rag 

Not 

One 

Hidden 

Crevice 

As he 

Trembles 

& weeps. 
What peace 

To see 

Raising chickens 

Does not 

Mystify you 

and 

Hot water heaters 

& their ways 

Are well known; 

That electricity 

& how it 

Works 

Is something 

Within 

Your grasp. 
That you can 

Get a car 

To run 

By poking 

It in 

A few mysterious 

Places 

Under 

The hood. 
That you can 

Fix a 

Broken 

Anything: battery, truck, stove, 

Door, fridge, lamp, chicken coop hinge 

While teaching me 

The ins and outs 

Of Opera 

Or 

While singing 

Lusty 

Italian 

Tenor 

That 

Shakes 

The walls. 
That you can 

Sit, comfy, 

Unperturbed 

By traffic 

In the womb-like 

Back seat 

Of my 

Aging 

Chariot 

While I drive 

& you 

Ride 

The silver 

Black 

& Golden 

Horses 

Of 

Your 

Trumpet.

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