My Fathers Car
Become a
Premium Member
and post notes and photos about your poem like Keith D Trestrail.
Blown by Atlantic wind and sail in chains
once were ragged souls like chattels branded -
from the Guinea Coast to old Port of Spain
African herdsmen on slave ships landed.
And from my father’s car I saw the yields
where cane would beasts of burden burn and mash,
where woman and child stooping in the fields
saw the ripping flesh and heard the whips lash.
Now broke are those fetters of time and fate -
that car, that relic of a dying age,
like the ships of old and their human freight
hunted, sold, and transported in a cage.
In my father’s grey Plymouth Belvedere
I saw ghosts of the mills and the ploughshare.
Written: December 2009
Copyright © Keith D Trestrail | Year Posted 2022
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment