By Lucas Herrera
It’s the day of Sabbath and a man lies dead on the North Minneapolis concrete.
100s took the street in awe of the display that broke through a
buzzing highway and all chanted in sigh to lament the rest of this poor man
which they said was angry
“They should know better!”
What did you expect you up tight self-righteous white trooper who came down cause you probably knew the best way to handle them
The police take advantage of the shattered and broken glass and pick the pieces up and throw them in the recycling
What of brother Jamar shot down on the street like a vagrant?
You lodged a bullet packed with freedom through his brain and prolonged the end of his life in an inferno of hope that consumed half the city
While the whole block stopped and watched
When, where then the children watching, realizing they have another reason to stay home
I remember Plymouth Ave North Minneapolis
I took it home each night on my two wheels mounted by dread and saw
A glistening starlight of frost coat the winding street
That’s where the diamonds nobody wanted cover everything
There were 51 of them who spent the night in prison
I hope Lora is okay
Thank you, so far, Mayor Hodges
But you broke out the zip ties and I wonder why you treat us this way
You had the hoses and dogs queued up for what some pig did
And you
The nerve to say you stand behind the movement
When all you really want to do is get home
You can wait 2 hours for now going 500 years
You can wait 2 hours for 76,759 killed in the Syria conflict
11 thou of them children
You would wait 2 hours for the 126 dead in Paris
But the only thing I can’t make apparent is when the 776 people killed here in your homeland don’t merit a wait list. But you’re behind it?
The blood soaks this wretched soil now turned sour
The tears of agony from the mothers of those young men howl through the city like A demon chasing light for its own compelling
There’s no street vigil that can throw fire against the cold northern rain
You don’t give a shit about them
There is no justice
There’s no consolation
You take and take
And rake in every bit of our change and wait making light of this awful game
Freedom of speech
Freedom of speech
Freedom of fucking speech