A white man's world

[elviaje26]

A white man's world

He shouts,
“You’re a fucking racist!”
I am one of two white men behind the desk at the homeless shelter.
We follow protocol.
Ensure the safety and the sobriety of all residents.
I caught him.
I caught him good.
I caught him hiding his influence of alcohol.
I told him that is against the rules.
I told him that he is threatening the sobriety of the people around him I told him that he has to leave.
I ordered him to leave. He continues to shout at me looking directly in my eyes.
As he shouts he pronounces his words so unorthodoxly I struggle to recognize them.
“You don’t know what my life is like… to try to survive as a black man in a WHITE man's world… to interview day after day… month after month... and not get one call back… NOT ONE CALL BACK… you have no idea… you are just a WHITE guy behind the counter”.
He heads for the streets,
I head home. 
As I drink my many beers after work,
I appreciate the warmth.
I imagine his surroundings are devoid of such warmth.
Serenity warmth
Collectedness warmth
Protection warmth 
Stillness warmth
I imagine him lying down in the middle of a traffic circle.
I imagine nearby addicts aimlessly roaming the streets.
I imagine the saturated commotion of cars rushing anxiously to their destinations.
I’m not sure I understand the full content of his rationale.
I am sure I can’t speak his speech.
My white mother and my white father raised me the way they were raised.
At home we spoke the white man's speech.
The white man's world is the only world I know. 
Every job interview I have ever been in,
A white man always did the interviewing.
How would I,
a white man,
fair in a black man's world?
A black man's world in where all CEOs,
boss-men,
and landlords speak a language that is not my own.
I see myself as timid,
awkward, 
and inelegant candidate.
My confidence would surely fall before me.
I get up off the couch and walk towards to the kitchen and reach for another beer in the fridge.


















Orginal-

A white man's world.





He shouts at me,

“You’re a
fucking
racist!”

I am one of two white men behind the counter.
We follow protocol.
Ensure the safety and the sobriety of all residents.

I was following my daily procedure
and protocols.
I caught him
hiding his influence of alcohol.
I told him he can’t sleep here tonight.
I am one of the two
white
employees behind the desk. 

He continues to shout at me
looking directly in my eyes,
pronouncing his words
so differently to the point
I struggle to recognize them.

“You don’t know what my life is like. To
try to survive
as a black man
in a white man's world.”

He leaves to the streets,
I head home.

As I drink my many beers after work,
I appreciate the comfort, safety, and warmth that surrounds me.
I imagine him trying to sleep in a place void of such
accommodations..

I imagine him lying down in the middle of a traffic circle
With nearby addicts aimlessly
roaming the streets.
Sound of cars
rushing anxiously to their destinations
Obliterating my ambiance of silence.

One things for sure,
I can’t speak his speech,

My mother and father raised me how they were raised
At home we spoke the white man's speech.
The white man's world is the only world I know.
Every job interview I have ever been in.
A white guy always did the interviewing.

How would I, a white man, fair in a black man's world?

A black man's world where all CEOs, boss-men, and landlords
speak a language that is not of my own.

I see myself as timid,
awkward,
and inelegant candidate.
My confidence would surely fall before me.

I get up off the couch and towards to the kitchen
and reach for another beer in the fridge.

[ellajam]

I like the bluntness of this. At first I was "so, and?" but I think you effectively portrayed a person stuck in a world he thinks he has no control over and understands the irony of a situation where he throws someone onto the street for the same thing he is allowed to do because he has the luxury of his own home. For me the white space slowed it down and made me feel he was in slo-mo also. I haven't come to terms with "ambience of silence" yet, it seems off for the narrator's plain speech.

Thanks for posting, interesting.

A white man's world.




He shouts at me,


“You’re a
fucking
racist!”


I am one of two white men behind the counter.
We follow protocol.
Ensure the safety and the sobriety of all residents.



I was following my daily procedure
and protocols.
I caught him
hiding his influence of alcohol.
I told him he can’t sleep here tonight.
I am one of the two
white
employees behind the desk.


He continues to shout at me
looking directly in my eyes,
pronouncing his words
so differently to the point
I struggle to recognize them.


“You don’t know what my life is like. To
try to survive
as a black man
in a white man's world.”


He leaves to the streets,
I head home.


As I drink my many beers after work,
I appreciate the comfort, safety, and warmth that surrounds me.
I imagine him trying to sleep in a place void of such
accommodations..


I imagine him lying down in the middle of a traffic circle
With nearby addicts aimlessly
roaming the streets.
Sound of cars
rushing anxiously to their destinations
Obliterating my ambiance of silence.


One things for sure,
I can’t speak his speech,


My mother and father raised me how they were raised
At home we spoke the white man's speech.
The white man's world is the only world I know.
Every job interview I have ever been in.
A white guy always did the interviewing.


How would I, a white man, fair in a black man's world?


A black man's world where all CEOs, boss-men, and landlords
speak a language that is not of my own.


I see myself as timid,
awkward,
and inelegant candidate.
My confidence would surely fall before me.


I get up off the couch and towards to the kitchen
and reach for another beer in the fridge.

[John]

Hi, elviaje26,

As this is in Novice, you won't be wanting a line by line. Overall, I feel I know what you're trying to say. In poetry, anything goes in subject matter, but this is full of pitfalls. Racism/black/white/homeless/jobless is not to be shunned, but it can be treated empathetically yet tellingly. And without mentioning racism/black/white.

A homeless character and his wants/needs could be described, with the shop assistant reflecting on their various fortunes. You could even have the assistant volunteering to work in a shelter as a result of the encounter.

At the moment, this piece is empty. It's a chopped-up prose account of an exchange, with awkward spaces and line breaks in an effort to simulate poetry. It doesn't work, and hasn't worked for me.

I'd be inclined to concentrate on your story and how to express it - succinctly and every word to count, then form it into a poem with some rhyme, rhythm and metre as you will. There's a plethora of free-verse and chopped-up prose out there masquerading as poetry already. But you're the author, and it must be your choice.

Stick at it, because your subject on this one is interesting.

Thanks for the opportunity to read it.

[QDeathstar]

this poem lacks flow and cohesion... it comes off timid and afraid, but maybe that was whitey's point. I disagree about decent subject matter... It's stale and cliche.

Maybe you could write a poem about ebt or having enough kids to qualify for wics.....

[sunilmathur]

This would read perfectly well as prose without the line breaks. The idea of the world being that of white men has not been convincingly brought out. The person described seems to be suffering from unemployment and poverty, more than anything else. If racial discrimination has been the cause, it has not been explained, except in your own musings, which may or may not represent the truth. It would have been better if the man himself had narrated how he had been discriminated against, say in matters of employment. Else, you could have cited concrete instances of such racism in your country.

"pronouncing his words
so differently to the point
I struggle to recognize them".

Is 'to the point' really needed? Couldn't we have said:

"pronouncing his words so differently
I struggle to recognize them"?

"He leaves to the streets". Or "He leaves for the streets"?

"As I drink my many beers after work,
I appreciate the comfort, safety, and warmth that surrounds me.
I imagine him trying to sleep in a place void of such
accommodations.."

"a place void of such". Don't you mean "devoid of such"? Moreover, in the last line 'facilities' or 'amenities' would be more appropriate than 'accommodations'.

"I imagine him lying down in the middle of a traffic circle
With nearby addicts aimlessly
roaming the streets.
Sound of cars
rushing anxiously to their destinations
Obliterating my ambiance of silence."

In the last line you say "Obliterating my ambiance of silence". But in the first line you had said that you were imagining 'him' lying in the middle of a traffic circle. By the way, the 'down' after 'lying' doesn't appear to be necessary. How can the rushing cars obliterate your 'ambiance of silence' when it is not you, but he, who is supposed to be lying there? You could have said perhaps "contrasting sharply with the silence that surrounds me".

"One things for sure,
I can’t speak his speech"

Maybe, an apostrophe after the 'g' in 'things' is needed.

"My mother and father raised me how they were raised". Might read better as "My mother and father raised me the way they were raised".

"A black man's world where all CEOs, boss-men, and landlords
speak a language that is not of my own".

Perhaps "a language that is not my own".

"I get up off the couch and towards to the kitchen
and reach for another beer in the fridge".

"and towards to the kitchen"? Or is it "and towards the kitchen"?

[elviaje26]

I am very gratefull with the pleathrea of great suggestions. I am very grateful!

FYI, this poem in not fictional.

[ellajam]

With the exception of Qdeathstar, I am very gratefull with the pleathrea of great suggestions. I am very grateful!

FYI, this poem in not fictional.

Honest comments by members of the Pen are welcome on any thread. It is a gift when someone tells you your poem doesn't work for them, it's always good to know what to work on. Further comments like this will be deleted.ella/mod

IMO whether a poem is based on fact or fiction has nothing to do of my experience with it or my critique of it, it just doesn't matter.

[elviaje26]

*Hurt feelings rescinded*

[ellajam]

*Hurt feelings rescinded*

Thank you.