By Demond Childers
It’s been weeks since 11/9 and still no word…
Regional transportation rejected, how absurd
Trying to find solace, but words escape me
Make America Great… again?
You must mean, like the Walter Scott mistrial
7 shots, just a routine traffic stop
Even still, planted evidence, a crooked cop just on his routine
I’m supposed to be happy… or am I?
My city tells of two cities… who am I?
Jobs keep coming, but my people still hurting
I advance with my choices, so why I am stressing?
I ain’t one for games, so why all the guessing?
I’m thinking it’s survival’s guilt that keeps me questioning
But, did I mention?
Division in a twitter mention…
President-elect, selected by a system
Erected by the founders, electors cast votes
You can lose the popular and still get forced hatred down ya throat
I tried to breathe since 11/9
Feeling separate from a world that gave us Plessy versus Ferguson
Fighting for my freedom in the spirit of Dred Scott
And in 2016 you still wonder why I dread cops?
Times change, but still it’s all the same
Same narrative, different characters
It pains me to see us march in vain
Every January we reciting Martin Luther King
And every February we try to remember that we really young kings
And by March? Another black soul targeted
The marksmen… well, he wasn’t racist-
Just a faceless, badge wearing human with displaced anger and knack
for tasteless jokes when not in public,
Detached from the fact that this man had kids,
Tried to provide for a wife and build a home like his
But he just couldn’t connect the dots
Brainwashed from scotch and Fox watching after pulling 12 hour shifts
Patrolling Linwood and Brightmoor
Just to duck out, cruiser sped up I-75 North
Got home so fast, all we seen was lightening bolts
But, my brother… that’s who had to pay the price
I guess I could speak on it, but I ain’t saying nothing nice