A gray, dull October sky looms overhead.
Young Green is stopped by two blue men.
The baby blue home watches over.
Its tattered, broken windows and all.
The concrete walkway felt Green’s heavy feet.
The cold dry air froze his breath with every exhale.
Memories of the riots flooded the conversation.
Tensions rose, and hatred took control.
Three pounds of it gathered in the fists of two blue men.
Young Green was beaten into submission.
The pavement no longer felt the feet of a man, but those of a corpse.
The last breath evaporated in the cold air,
And the body thudded against the pavement.
Salvation came in a flashing red and white truck.
Yet it was far too late.
Young Green’s body was in the bed, but he was somewhere else.
The city of Detroit cried that day.
Israel painted your memorial with the tears of the city raining down.
Decades pass, and the baby blue home continues to adorn your memory.
Your painted tears drown the street.
Malice Green, you will not be forgotten.