Small town Mississippi, way deep down, stuck
Like the roots of a garden weed that won’t let go
Bound to it’s native hold

Holding on to the one thing we know

Racism they call it
We have to choose a side
We really seem to want to

Watching the other kind celebrate
Who revels like that?

We would never do such a thing
We wear a nicer hat

We played at school together
While young
Now we’ve chosen a side

We lied about being open
Minded the other kinds pride

What do we do?
They’ve taken over the town

What is the upside?
The upside is down

Down, never going up
Don’t grow there
It’s safer in this rut

Four years from now things will change
Not our minds
They have to stay the same

A new mayor, that will change
Everything different
Everything the same.

– Clay Bowen

Author’s Note: I wrote the poem “Mississippi Mayor” after the most recent mayoral election in my hometown. It was a heated contest to which sides seemed to be chosen more by race than rationale?