BLM

had just bought papers at the headshop
when a train of people declaring the value
of black lives
passed by.

i clapped, as any worthless
spectator can...

but it felt good,
like a fight just won
by
    your guy.

I bought a beer
from the corner store
when the train of oppressed people
turned the corner.

Catching up, I knew i had nowhere
better
to be.
So I followed along,
and felt sad as the pictures passed
through my
   mind.

A nice, younger than me, white woman
with a two kids and a sign,
said,
    "8 and a half minutes is a long time to kneel on anything"
I wondered if she was raised catholic,
I wondered at how angry I would be
if the bus or train were 8 and a half minutes late,
I wondered at the meaning of numbers
... any of them ...
pi, e, random, 8.5
I felt sad again, clips playing in my mind -
names I couldn't remember, but were at the tip of my tongue,
garner, tamir, brown, kelly, taylor, -
those were only some of the ones that died.

the dead hookers, bangers, corner boys
all workers trying to survive,
the eyes swollen shut,
the shoulders dislocated,
wrists broken,
lungs punctured,
survivors over and over
surviving the fucking apocalypse,
if there ever will be one, it has been
if there ever WILL be one, it HAS BEEN.

we were directed,
        by the police
into the park
through an iron gate
while a blonde, blue eyed lady cop
filmed, with a really nice camera,
every one of us.
I contemplated the computing hours
to identify everyone ...
surely not more than 2.

we had a moment of silence,
schweige moment, as they say here.
I drank my beer,
and talked to jesus - I said

listen jesus, we ain't all ready to die
on any cross, whatever it may be,
but god damnit, give me the strength
to die on this cross, oh dear jesus.

Over some barbwire and Constantine-wire fencing,
in some weird field of wood chips
stood two cops in full riot gear
alone
like the children picked last
for any neighborhood game with sides.

We were all so civilized,
it turns out,
there was no need to talk to Jesus
after all.

I went and bought more beer
and drank it at a bus stop.
An old man complaining about the demo
said the Left deserved a punch in the face
for delaying the 31 bus.
he was old and small and sad
so I said, "I'm left, hit me."
then I taunted him.
It felt half good and all sad.
This old frail scared dog,
made of skin and bones,
was exactly frail and scared.
He declared himself Regular.

Where do we go from here?