Michael Codrington
Nov 4 · 2 min read

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.

Michael Codrington

Written by

Aspiring journalist. Artist. Performer.

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