Working Man

I am a working man.

I grow, chopped, and sampled your cotton.

I toiled the red clay of Mississippi.

I survived, though denied education and the right to vote.

I survived your lynchings.

I survived racism, a living relic of slavery.

I suffered indignities and injustice because of my color,

But I did not give up.

I kept my manhood.

I moved north to the promised land.

I built your trucks.

I ran your factories.

I scoured your floors.

I lived in your tenements.

I too am a working man.

I raised my family with a strong voice.

I taught them right from wrong.

I taught them dignity amidst poverty.

I taught them love and responsibility.

I taught them the meaning of struggle.

I built this nation.

I too am a working man.

I too am an American.

At the age of eighty-eight,

I embrace death with a kiss.

Death has ended my suffering.

To die is not a tragedy,

If one has lived and fought the good life.

In my last journey, I will not bow my head.

For I am a man.

I am an American.

I built this nation.