after “A Poem About Police Violence” by June Jordan
backbreakin bloodlust is an amerikkkan past-time except now the slave is convinced he owns the whip overseers fucked around and got union benefits house niggas swallowed the master’s tongue oppressors tailored industries out of plantation speak now the racist sheriff is Black and police is family business and it was five Black cops that beat that boy beyond recognition or man depending on if you believe Black boys are either always men or remain boys til death spins the block dizzy sincere apologies to the poetry community all my stanzas sound like re-reuns lately it seems i’m fresh out of beautiful methods to communicate i want my kin to live full lives i comb through pages of synonyms for genocide i flip my pockets inside out searchin for left over references to Black folks i’ve never met and won’t forget until the next cycle of summertime uprisings where i’m tasked with a megaphone sermon to summon pretty words about ugly systems run by intransigent uniforms they say i’m angry and i say sheeeiiitt you not?! they say i’m hopeless and i say yes in the president i’m not pessimistic but i am tired of pretending objective reality excludes physiological reactions for example i feel my bones get hot each time i read about a new instance of state sanctioned murder i deduce that my anatomy is expressing its honest belief that there should be a small suburban town on fire you see how the body actually keeps the score is through retaliation and we are terribly far behind