For my creative writing class this week, we were tasked with writing a poem that was somehow in dialogue with the Black Lives Matter movement, specifically related to one of the shootings of an unarmed person of color. This is the poem that I wrote in response to that prompt.
4:38 pm: “I saw the cop car parked in the McDonald’s parking lot.”
Went through the Mc Donald’s drive through. Two blocks from the Reisterstown CVS.
4:46 pm: “The cop pulled outta that Mickey D’s lot pretty fuckin’ fast.”
A call came up n the scanner. 5’10 African American man, approximately 160 lbs.
Trying to use a fake prescription at the CVS. Still had half the medium fries to eat.
Sirens on, lights on, en route to the scene. Probably some poor black kid trying to
score some hydracodone.
4:50 pm: “The kid was walkin’ away from the CVS. Wasn’t hurtin’ nobody.”
5’10 African American man sighted in the parking lot of the CVS. Looks like a kid. Arms too skinny for his shoulders.
4:51 pm: “The cop yelled stop, and the kid ran. He was fast, that boy.”
I told him to stop. To put his hands up. He runs. Fast as hell. Probably has a brother who outran jail time, told him cops are too lazy to chase you. Stupid kid. They always think they can outrun a white guy in a uniform. Not today, asshole.
4:52 pm: “His hands were up. The cop just kept yelling for him to raise his hands slowly. But his hands were already up.”
I corner him behind the church across the street. He looks like a stupid kid looking for
a fix. Or maybe he’s running drugs. What if he has a gun. He looks scared. What if he jumps me. I wonder if I look scared. A black kid carrying oxy’s jumped a cop once, I think. It might have been last week. Maybe somewhere downtown. What if he has a gun.
4:57 pm: “The whole block smelled like gunpowder for weeks.”
He didn’t have a gun.