A Grim Fairy Tale
Once upon a time
a baby girl was born with both hands
planted firmly on slim hips
in Naperville a city known for its wind.
Geneva named her reed of a rebel Sandra
born to protect innocents weaker than she
activism seeped through ebony skin armed
with shard-laced tongue was everything but bland.
Then one fine day came good fortune.
A new job drew word warrior hours away
to chase an American dream nestled
in alma mater near a Texas city
full of prairie views and monster cops.
Arriving at destination with a little hesitation
she oops and made a fraction of a traffic violation
tale-gating trooper saw and stopped the car
ran license and tags then flashed his badge.
He waited agitated claimed to choke
on Sandra’s second-hand smoke wafting
from her lit cigarette not close
the officer was no gentleman.
Put yer cigarette out, the Jim Crow throwback demanded
Or I will light you up.
I’m in my car she smarted. You feeling’ mighty good ‘bout yourself?
Step out the car or I will remove you
Step out the car or I will remove you
Step out the car or I will remove you
For a traffic ticket, for a traffic ticket, she protested
was arrested, forced to shuffle with hands locked behind back
wearing his matching metal bracelets.
Body slammed and shoved into a cell
Sandra soon tired of itchy orange prison wear
cellmates said she stuffed the rough
jumpsuit inside a hefty trash bag
then jumped from her bunk plastic
on neck and dangled until she was dead;
at least that’s what the lying jailers said.
The End
(This year 2022, Sandra Bland would have turned 35 February 7th)
In Black and White: A Close Encounter of a Blue Kind
Ya got any pcp?
He screamed at me
I stared at thin pink lips
in disbelief his mouth full
of yellow jagged teeth sagged
like a picket fence needing repair
mold-colored eyes menacing pinwheels
high beams of hatred set in a
carnelian-shaded face and neck.
The cop violated law to lay hands
on me with defiling clutching claws
ignored my command don’t touch
I thought you were a man he lied
I, in plain view 5 feet 2 and buxom.
His right hand rested on a .357
the wrong one probed my coat
searched for elusive contraband
my kind was rumored to have.
Put your hands up, he ordered
my puzzled female passenger
& three boys--12, 8 & 2 years young
sprawled in the back seat
my moving violation unclear
anything in South Central was suspect.
The cop was on a mission but
it wasn’t from John Belushi’s God
his mission was to snatch comfort
to strike fear from that day till now
when driving Figueroa I watch my rear
view since Winter of 1979
when widow Eulia Love was blasted
12 times in front of her babies
from two officers’ hands planted
on guns that were paid to serve and protect her.
Warning: disturbing content about global pigs
1
I remember the feast of my first luau
I could tell you about the drinks, native songs,
buffed Polynesian men brandishing flaming batons
but lean in and listen while I tell you about the roasted pig,
the spit shined burnished skin, crispy mouth wrapped
around a wrinkled apple
the animal’s singed eye sockets ringed
with cherries and pineapples
its body reposed on a carpet of lettuce, scattered wedges
of watermelon and grapes decorate the pork platter.
Hold that image.
2
Now let me tell you about the rape
of Eritrean women spoils of conflict.
Men declared war but woman and children died.
One young woman ripped from her village
12 soldiers zealous to ruin their enemies’ wives
thrust and spent themselves inside her womb
12 hours she begged and wept.
3
The men thought they killed
her to send a message so they packed
her tight with rocks, glass, sticks, and trash
stuffed her like a pig shocking
the attending physician as each bloody piece he pulled
clinked when dropped inside the tin bin by hospital bed.
4
Half dead the woman’s thin legs unable to stand
remembered how the men tossed her battered
and bloody in the gold soil that clung
to their shoes forever a testimony against them
and roasted pigs.
Hold that image the next time you dine on swine at a luau.
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