See three smiling cousins,
around age eight,
spattered with mud, after
an afternoon spent playing
in the sodden, low spot in the yard
Sour we are, we no longer water the roots to our fruitful aspirations.
How are we all stuck in this condiment of indignation.
I’m scared for my generation.
When walking down my own street I catch a bullet for my pigmentation.
And we scream black lives matter creating a tumultuous pattern
Like we’re not the ones doing the eliminating.
Women sleeping with men to fill spaces that have long been vacant.
Men sleeping with women whom they find better naked.
The redundancy order
Of a tireless occupation
We desire a quick fix
More than the desire to make it.