A black life
Minutes later, I wake up in my bed,
startled, gasping for air.
I open the window and let in some fresh air.
Something strange is filling up my lungs.
I can’t breathe.
Is the house too smoky?
Ahh! Maybe the cake’s made, I reminisce.
I walk over and open the oven door.
The cake, as I see, is half baked.
Eight minutes and forty-six seconds more before the timer goes off.
Time enough for a smoke!
I step onto the porch.
And dig into my pocket looking for the cigarettes,
I had only just bought.
I find one and light.
My lungs can take the smoke no more.
I can’t breathe.
I stub the butt and walk out on the street.
A police car passes me by, and I hurriedly step onto the sidewalk.
Like always, they make me uncomfortable. More so today.
A black life is best not noticed.
My anonymity, my only ally!
I turn a corner.
I stand in front of the store; that had just sold me the cigarettes.
I see police cars, and a light crowd.
“Black lives matter,” I hear someone shout.
I want to scream in support, but I can not.
Curious, I push through the crowd.
I see myself lying on the street,
pinned lifeless beneath a knee.
A display of abject power and absent humanity
I can’t breathe.
There lying lifeless on the street I learn,
The price of a black life,
A mere twenty dollars.
The time it takes to end that life,
Less than eight minutes.
The number of times that life can plead,
sixteen, then at least, I could no more!
Minutes later, I wake up in my bed,
startled, gasping for air.
This time I don’t rush to open the window.
I close my eyes instead.
The oven timer goes off!
