2.75

When I was 15 they booked my brother
hid a cop in undercover
clothes to spy,
an eagle eye
hawked him down
tackled him to the ground
and luckily?
He let him off with a warning because
he knew that he was just 16.
Thanks to his ID.
He had sympathy for a boy who could have been his own son
how rare
For cops to view us as valid,
children not nearly
capable of the amount of harm
they swear we harness in our hearts,
In our souls,
When I was 8 years old
I remember
I hopped for the first time.
Not out of pleasure
Or malicious intent
But because
The fuckin’ fare goes up every year
Spikes the hearts of hardworking mothers with big black families
who must travel,
by transit
Do we risk it?
Hope that your first hop won’t mean your last breath?
You’re too big to go under now
And we only have so many swipes to spread around
So for now?
Hop.
Vault.
Leap.
Soar.
Spread your wings and hope
that you land safely
on the A train
and not
In the backseat of a blue and white
Cop car.
Or worse
On the ground with 4 knees in your spleen, 8 guns to your head,
A million people.
A million cameras.
“Call my mom”. He said.
Hands raised to heaven
Harmless, unarmed ,
And 19.
Two weeks before I turned 19,
Was the last time that I hopped.
Out of necessity.
2.75 on a yellow-blue card,
The difference
Between a kid,
And a criminal.
