"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.
Notice the neatness and songlike quality of the poem thus far. With alliteration, repetition, and a driving meter, the poem very much feels like a blues song, which was very common in Hughes' writing. Hughes thought the blues was a high form of art because of its narrative succinctness and ability to evoke deep human emotion through subtle, and often comic narrative. While the narrative of “Cross” is not comical, it is able to explore some very complicated cultural problems with very simple language and form. 

Cross