What was Needed
I had the license to drive.
I got it so I could drive
grain trucks into
Kansas City from our little town
south down old 71 Hiway.
I was 20 and eager, had a
big hat and cockroach killers;
could cuss just a little
humor the street walkers
sleep on top of the load out of their way
I knew how to walk and talk
in my town, in my truck
on my streets.
But there I was in St. Louis
right in the shadow of the Pruitt-Igoe towers;
warehouses for black folks
built by white folks who did
not understand or care to
There I was
trying to make sense out of a
country that no longer made
any to me; John and Martin
and Robert were all gone and so were
Chaney and Schwermer and Goodman.
There I was
trying to dip those pointed boots
into waters I knew nothing of.
I had the license to drive.
So I was not so much asked
as appointed -
White college boy
we need you to drive the bus.
You have the license and
we are going to Karo and
being naïve but not ignorant
I agreed to drive the bus to Karo.
In some places this would be Cairo
but in Illinois it is Karo
kind of like the syrup;
all sticky and sweet
too much of it
and, well you know
Just works that way there
amidst the hot and humid
the decay and the defeat.
I had the license to drive.
Little rickety old bus painted bright yellow
like we wouldn’t be seen otherwise.
Black and white folks
were always noticed riding the bus
together in 1970.
There was no mistaking our mission;
no confusion about where
we were going.
Riding the little yellow bus 2 hours
38 minutes to Karo.
Little Egypt.
tapes playing in our heads
“people in Karo
don’t care who you are.
If you don’t fit in
you might not get out.”
Little yellow bus to Karo.
It was the hot summer time
and the only AC was the holes
in the floor board
that drew the wind through the windows.
The same open windows that might let the
cocktails through once we made it
to Karo;
Cocktails all lit up just for us.
We knew the stories of
other buses in other places.
Little yellow bus to Karo.
I had the license to drive.
We arrived in that tiny place
between 2 big rivers
just waiting for us to fall in.
Accidents happened in Karo.
We stepped off that bus as if there
was hope and marched down that
sad and forlorn main street.
Little ol’ white country boy
scared as the day was hot.
But i marched behind folks that
might have been scared but were
no longer willing to wait
their tapes no longer played
We marched through
the deathly, stinking quiet
and saw folks that might have wanted out
but who wanted us out even more.
We marched from one end and back.
Hardly a sound
just the beat. The beat. The beating
of the drum of the Black Panthers leading us.
I marched as if I knew
what I was doing
and where we were going.
Like the Panthers would lead us
across to the promised land
if we only walked on
if only we believed
And when it was over
we got back on our little yellow bus
and the little yellow bus took us home
I had the license to drive.
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