PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Every day is a

new hill to climb.

My breath is a hurricane

building pressure in my ears

as I trudge up the slope.

That cop’s watching me.

I don’t know his name but

I know his story, same as all the others.

Blue eyes, ruddy face,

skin pale as the clouds,

claims he’s colorblind

but curses my black brothers crushed on the concrete,

dry gray pebbles spilling into their mouths.

I stride toward him to get to my car,

the exhaustion weighing on my face

and probably making me look like

not exactly the most pleasant guy ever.

Well, at least I haven’t

been shot yet.

BANG.

I hear it paired with the sight

of the cop’s hidden twenty-two.

The bullet races at the speed of thought

it’s too fast too fast too fast

my heart pounds

to catch up with it

sweat trickles down my arms

as I bolt.

The bullet sears fire along my side, I’m

smacking the ground like a train wreck,

eyes going black,

disconnected from the world I wish for

that is just

and fair

and colorblind

and doesn’t pull a gun

on any black kid

walking out of church.