EVERY BLACK KID OVER 30 HAS A STORY ABOUT PICKING THEIR OWN SWITCH

Even if it was a belt, really. Even if their hood

didn’t have trees. Nobody wants to believe

any bullet fired around them wasn’t meant

for them if they survive it. If your God is truly

merciful, may you be blessed with every scar.

Suffered the diminished hearing in your left ear from

the summer Wu-Tang took you hostage. You know

the world wants to hollow you out because you

loved someone that was once your age and now

they no longer have an age. You don’t know shit

about flowers, but you remember the auntie that

bloomed once a year when the cops would finally

take her husband and his hands to jail for a week.

Elders are the only folks who take cruises because

they took a lifetime to get over crossing that much

water. If you are to keep religion, let the thin trees

with air-whip branches, but nothing tall enough

to swing from, be the totem. Let the man that

blocked your exit remain one man and not

every man that moves into a vacancy on your street.

Everyone has an idea of what their savior’s face

looks like but never wonders what the bastard

is holding behind his back. You haven’t been right

since your high school teacher told you to stop

showing off in class. Now you get nauseous

when your daughter aces her spelling test.

When you were younger, your father overheard you

talking to your white friends and told you

code-switching will kill you. You remembered

the day he took you

to work with him

and you offered back to him,

you first.