I am
Sitting in a park
When I hear the call of a lark
The buzzing of the bees
The squirrels in the trees
I am
Reading a book
When I hear a click
So I
Turn and look
An officer
Is holding a thick
Black handle
Finger
On the metallic trigger
Then I’m dead
Maybe in his head
He thought the book I held in my hand
Would be used to kill a man
Simply reading a book
But I guess the White cop
Simply saw me as a crook
And so now they mop
My blood, while my wife
Drops
A tear and my children
Are told by the media
That their father is a villain
The academia
Attempts to dissect what I did wrong
Meanwhile the lark’s song
Is a mourning for the death
Of my last breath
And the cop high fives his buddy cop
While tears still drop
From my family’s eyes
Because my despised
Black skin
Caused me
To die
