The Ties that Divide

"A bit of a let-down
is our Amy."
What they always said
when they talked about me.
"Such a lovely baby too.
How could we have known
she'd grow up this way?
That first day we met her
when those big brown eyes,
looked straight up at us
said, 'Choose me.'
How wrong could we have been?
Had a chip on her shoulder
did our Amy."

"Where's San Salvador anyway?"
the kids at school jibed
in their small-town American accents.
I just never fitted in;
the colour of my skin
was all they could see,
not what was underneath.
A black-sheep that was me.
"So, turn the other cheek,"
teacher used to say,
but that got slapped too.
Crap advice that.

And what of you
in your warm, cosy cot -
fists tightly curled?
I wonder what bricks
this frigging world
will hurl your way?
Still, at least one consolation -
got your father to thank
for the shade of your skin.
If he could hear you,
wherever he is.

Just to think,
me ending up with a white kid;
your tiny pink hand
and mine,
olive-tanned.
I know you can't understand
but that's an illusion, you see.
Inside of me I'm white
through and through;
neither one thing nor the other.

Guess that's the bloody trouble -
can't run away from yourself
and that's a fact.
That's why I'm back
in this god-awful place.
Crack's the only thing
that helps me escape -
for a while at least.
Which is why I can't keep you, baby.

What goes around
comes around
eventually.
Ain't that a fact
my sweet little Amy?
But things'll be better for you,
please believe me.
Only hush now;
no crying.
They'll be here in a while
and we don't want no tears
in those blue,
'choose-me' eyes.