This is when you become
this unarmed black boy shot
this white killer cop not
charged but given three months paid
vacation plus one million
dollars in thanks for
this job well done.
This happened yesterday, too,
the day before that. They used to say
Dance, nigger dance and empty their guns
this was their theory:
if you could rise fast enough the bullets
would not hit your feet.
This, the weight
of five centuries that did not break your back.
This, you were scared of then.
This, you stiffened silent
This will happen again
tomorrow. Different city, different dead
black boy body. But now
this straw needle.
Oh, how your baby boy loves to dance. His legs, though,
are little. He could never jump, high enough.