<html><head><meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"></head><body style="word-wrap: break-word; -webkit-nbsp-mode: space; line-break: after-white-space;" class=""><div dir="auto" style="word-wrap: break-word; -webkit-nbsp-mode: space; line-break: after-white-space;" class=""><div class="">What Schools Don’t Teach Black Boys in America Today</div><div class=""><i style="font-size: 14px;" class=""><br class=""></i></div><div class=""><i style="font-size: 14px;" class="">After Langston Hughes & Sterling Brown</i></div><div class=""><i style="font-size: 14px;" class=""><br class=""></i></div><div class=""><br class=""></div><div class="">I’ve known rivers long enough to know:</div><div class=""><br class=""></div><div class="">not enough black boys</div><div class="">take their marks at the start line,</div><div class=""> perch on a high wire</div><div class=""> overlooking the world,</div><div class=""> their wings spread wide,</div><div class=""> ready to soar toward the sun,</div><div class=""><br class=""></div><div class="">not enough take the stage,</div><div class=""> except to sing, dance, rap rhymes,</div><div class=""> or mime to songs wearing white-painted faces.</div><div class=""><br class=""></div><div class="">Maybe they’d rather watch and listen</div><div class=""> than read Douglass, Baldwin, and King,</div><div class="">or cruise, chill, shoot hoops, and wander a mall</div><div class=""> than stand unpainted,</div><div class=""> reciting Langston, Terrance,</div><div class=""> Danez, and Jericho.</div><div class=""><br class=""></div><div class="">It shouldn’t matter that white boys,</div><div class=""> whom the world expects to win,</div><div class=""> can wear the black mask,</div><div class=""> Poitier-Denzel-Idris-style,</div><div class=""> like auditioning for a Broadway show___</div><div class=""> morning-bird voice, thick-lipped,</div><div class=""> bulging tight pants and all,</div><div class=""> with a little James Brown swagger</div><div class=""> stepping toward the stage.</div><div class=""><br class=""></div><div class="">Maybe too many black boys in America today</div><div class="">know too much</div><div class="">of shallow streams and dry, desert sands,</div><div class=""><br class=""></div><div class="">don’t hear the bell</div><div class=""> their silence rings</div><div class=""> of untold pain</div><div class=""> that keeps a boy inside a man,</div><div class=""><br class=""></div><div class="">and don’t hear words</div><div class="">of strong black men</div><div class="">who’ve known ancient, dusky rivers,</div><div class=""><br class=""></div><div class=""> men who curse love</div><div class=""> for not loving back,</div><div class=""><br class=""></div><div class=""> who stumble,</div><div class=""> fall, or get knocked down,</div><div class=""><br class=""></div><div class=""> but get up,</div><div class=""> speak truth out loud,</div><div class=""><br class=""></div><div class="">and make a way out of no way</div><div class="">with nothing but a tom-tom</div><div class="">crying, laughing, and singing in their hearts.</div><div class=""><br class=""></div><div class=""><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>- John Warner Smith</div></div></body></html>