"Cross"
My old man's a white old man
And my old mother's black.
If ever I cursed my white old man
I take my curses back.
If ever I cursed my black old mother
And wished she were in hell,
I'm sorry for that evil wish
And now I wish her well.
My old man died in a fine big house.
My ma died in a shack.
I wonder where I'm going to die,
Being neither white nor black?
The final phrase (and forceful monosyllables) “white nor black” remind us of the current system of categorization, and how rigid it is. The speaker does not fully belong to either racial group, and his “being neither” forces him to fall into unremembered death. 
 The question mark at the end of the poem stands in stark contrast to the authoritative ending lines of the previous two stanzas. For no matter how confident and aware the speaker is aware of his heritage, the notion of a future identity that is acknowledged by society and uniquely his, remains uncertain.
Cross