By Mushroom Montoya
We stare at the
TV,
Watching four
grown men,
Wearing police
uniforms of
Public servant
blue.
Officer Chauvin's
knee is holding down,
Choking,
suffocating George Floyd,
Pleading for air,
begging for his life,
Calling for his
mama.
Two of the men in
blue
Hide behind a
black and white police car,
While they too,
pin the man to the ground,
Squeezing his life
out,
One begging plea
at a time.
Is this America?
The America that I
risked my life for
in Viet Nam?
Alongside sailors
and soldiers
Of every race and
creed?
I thought we
passed the Civil Rights Act
More than half a
century ago
To end racism in
our America.
Who are these four
grown men,
Dressed in public
servant blue,
Who desecrate the
uniform,
Their oath
To serve and
protect?
Who allows such
men to
Kill Black men at
will?
Violate common
decency?
Violate human
rights?
Who allows such
men to
Ignore the
Constitution,
Ignore the rule of
law,
And express blatant
racism
With NO
accountability?
When local
governments
Ignore the law
To shield one of
their own
From lawful
consequences,
They become
accomplices.
We, too, become
accomplices
When we watch TV
And do nothing,
Except run to the
toilet
And vomit our
helplessness,
Our acceptance.
What does it take
for us to act?
Do the corrupt
police have to hurt
Our next-door
neighbor,
Our family,
Our body?
We know, when we
accept injustice,
We are being
unjust.
And we can't keep
vomiting
Our integrity into
the toilet.
We must NOT turn
off the TV
And walk away,
Lamenting the
violent “normal”
We have accepted.
We must hold
accountable
Any man who
desecrates
the Police
uniform,
Who desecrates the
public trust
with lethal racist
actions.
When we climb out
of our shelter
And charge
forward,
Knowing it might
be uncomfortable,
It might hurt,
We come back to
humanity,
We come back to
life.
Included in the anthology, Los Angeles Poets for Justice
No comments:
Post a Comment