Streets

I hear blood
families crying over a loved one’s
slain body in the street
The sirens are distant
but close enough to see
the strobing red, intimidating blue

I hear recognition
the colors wane as They realize
that They’re rounding into
the Negro neighborhood

I hear tomorrow’s headline
“Black on Black Violence
(so why riot about police brutality?)”
but that’s only if this life
is deemed newsworthy

I hear acceptance
feet shuffle from the scene
though I have some life left in me

108

You might also like…

Poetry

The Jobber

Arvee Fantilagan

Chuck always ends up waxing poetic around his trainees.   About how professional wrestling is a dance—a violent choreography of chokeholds and suplexes, timed to the tune of their bookers' ...  [+]

Poetry
Poetry

Snoot's Snouts

Ann Garrett

Snoot the Pooch was sad one day.
"I wonder why I look this way.
My nose is doggone commonplace.
It's just so boring on my face."

"I'd feel better, I suppose,
if I could have a brand new ...  [+]