Posted in Poetry

On police.

i didn’t know about rubber bullets
or how to make makeshift gas masks
until ferguson
mike brown’s body boiling
four and a half hours
face down, hands up, and bloody
in the middle of the street.
justice never required six warning shots into your back
there is no such thing as protocol anymore
when it comes to black people.
our protests are peaceful
chanting arm in arm
hand in hand
hands up don’t shoot
while our tea is getting laced with tear gas.
babies hit by flashlights and night sticks
beanbags disfiguring eye sockets
one black body
yes body
(we aren’t anything but),
clothes hanger, worker, rap god
every 28 hours murdered
313 a year
once dead, they are vilified, lied about, spat on.

lady liberty is hanging her head in shame
her torch has blown out
shoulders slumped over
and she wants to go back to France.
do not tell my boys they need to pull their pants up or wear a belt.
do not tell them to be peaceful.
king wore a suit and he still fell from his throne at lorraine.

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Author:

Poet, Writer, Editor

One thought on “On police.

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