Poem 2 of 30 - April 2012
a full 40oz beer is tossed from a passing car and lands at my feet
and its roar is deafening – glass
and beer everywhere – night
and an incredible sadness
and Trayvon Martin is still
on everyone’s lips tonight
and I’m wearing a dark blue hoodie
and the people in the car can’t know
what color I am or even
that I’m there – pushing
as I am on my bicycle
and I don’t know many days
what the logarithms of rage
and so many people given
so much permission
to hate
a man says call me
a racist but I couldn’t care
as much about the character
because they made her black
which means
has given him a history – too
and an unyielding right to count
my body expendable When
did I become less
mournable? Who
mounted me such a mule –
human whose death is unremarkable
and for whom no one waits
at home as I pedal on through
the cloakish night which everyone knows
now after
adjudicates nothing in favor
of black bodies – enter lynch
cliché here – which is to say
it is possible for my death
by mob to be so unremarkable
as to not be shocking
or newsworthy – my mother
my woman should learn
expect even to veil themselves
in black lace shame
on them for even wanting me
to star in my own life – to return
home triumphant and drunk
with my God-given right
to the darkness and the streets
and this is what I pray
to sometimes – what is God-
given what I know
is my burden tonight – this
Palm Sunday as I come
celebrated into the
of my own personal black history
expecting what the Father has laid
out for me – sure death by mob
who hurls invective and missile
who say black can’t possible
be rooted for – who will deny
who will say their hands
were tied – who gets paid
for my death everyday
who knowing me already
convicted touches the hem
of my garment says nothing
and is made
whole
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