Blues by Derek Walcott

Those five or six young guys
lunched on the stoop
that oven-hot summer night
whistled me over. Nice
and friendly. So, I stop.
MacDougal or Christopher
Street in chains of light.

A summer festival. Or some
saint's. I wasn't too far from
home, but not too bright
for a nigger, and not too dark.
I figured we were all
one, wop, nigger, jew,
besides, this wasn't Central Park.
I'm coming on too strong? You figure
right! They beat this yellow nigger
black and blue.

     This poem by Derek Walcott is a bit difficult to analyze given that it is rather difficult to figure out when it was written. However, a line does appear that strikes dischord with me.

"I figured we were all one, wop, nigger, jew, besides, this wasn't Central Park." 

I felt that this meant that in his eyes, (probably Derek Walcott's Eyes), he viewed himself as the same as the same as these other groups. He even used the terms that were used to refer to certain groups of people that had undergone their hardships in the past. But, even though all 3 groups had been discriminated against, he was beaten up and on top of that for nothing. His group was still considered lower even after considerable attempts in history to correct that. 

I did nothing. They fought

each other, really. Life

gives them a few kcks,

that's all. The spades, the spicks.

I felt this line was a symbol of the war within the world on how to deal with these many racial groups and how it caused problems within their own groups as individual opinions waged war on each other.

You know they wouldn't kill
you. Just playing rough,
like young Americans will.
Still it taught me somthing
about love. If it's so tough,
forget it.

     I think this last piece is about how opinions of America formed. Played rough and like to try to fix things but, if it was gonna cause so much trouble, then maybe their help is not worth it.