At midnight sharp
done for the day
I floored that empty bus on cue
and hit the straightaway for home
just like always
full speed on the centerline
headlights burning down
decayed brick walls
and garbage alleys
of the Deep South
sixties

The young man threw it
with focused despair
and all his might--
a concrete block
spinning
end over end
in slow motion mid-air
heaved with immaculate fury
and strong black arms
from the doorway of the Church
under dead streetlamps

Just a silhouette
racing through the
shooting gallery
of a grieving mind
I was baptized
at fifty miles an hour
in a cloud of glass
that seared my eyes
with crimson stars
on the shattered edge
of ghetto dreams

I was transported
in a vision
of coach lamps
casting perfect halos
over pews soiled
with generations of hatred
while  a vengful
concrete angel
winged over my head
down the aisle
and destroyed
the last Blackman seat
at the back of the bus
that night after
Doctor King was killed