Black Debit


Oh damn my nig
You ain’t know
Living is for white folks
Everything is an excuse
To snuff your firefly
Watch your glow burn out
In a jar with bars
Or plant you like a seed
Watch the gravestone grow

Come on now
Don’t the sunshine hurt a bit
When you sit in it too long
Stay yo’ ass in
Outside is for white folks
Where the darkest thing on a hip
Can trigger your fall

You bright
Like a taser handle
And not wrapped too tight
Too brown for a second thought
Too much question from your car door
Bullet be the answer
Whoops — “my bad” be the claim
Mistakes be for white folks
Make a mess of your situation
A clean up on every aisle

How in the hell can
Wait…
Questions — That’s for white folks
Explanations is for white folks
Acquittal
Book deal and gun auction
White folk
Justice — please
A nigga fairy tale in white folk flesh
Be lucky if they say their name
And not yours in the trail

We always on trial
My nig you ain’t know
Living is for white folks
And the cost is expensive as hell.

Categories: PoetryTags: , , , ,

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