The Evidence (A Poem for Mike Brown)



There was a gun
There was a cop
There was a Black boy

The Black boy had no gun
The Black boy had
His skin
His breath
His hands
The Black boy had enough
To make the cop afraid

The Black boy ran
The Black boy ran
The Black boy ran
The cop chased
The cop was not chased

The cop chased the Black boy
The cop had
                a gun
                a badge
                a car
The cop had authority
On who deserved to be chased

The cop had fear
It leaned into his car
Ugly words all in its mouth
Strong arms bruising his thinking
About the boy

The cop said
The kid’s hands were thieves
The kid’s hands were violent
The kid’s hands were the first to make the gun go off

The cop says the kid
Forgot what skin he was in
What cops have done to boys like him
With less provocation

They say the witnesses
Told stories
That couldn't walk a straight line

They say that evidence
Doesn't change
They say
It’s not subjective
That evidence is fact

They say the boy is dead
And that’s a fact
The cop had a right to deadly force
And that’s another fact

They never say
The boy was afraid
That his fear put running in his legs

They say the child with no gun
Stopped and rushed toward the cop
And the cop saw a child with violence growing in his skin

They say the kid forgot
What his momma taught him about
Black boys and police officers
They say the cop had a right to his fear

No one is sure where the boy’s hands were
Some say the boy
Had his hands up
Had his hands over his head
Had his hands in front of him,
His palms up, ready for receiving

What we know is
His hands were his hands
His hands had nothing in them
His hands couldn't hold him to this life

What we know is
The cop was afraid
And the kid was
Breathing
And Black

The bullet was the price the kid paid
For being threatening in his skin
For not being more careful around a white man’s fear

The verdict said
His hands could have been anywhere
And still they would be guilty

We know the boy was headed to college
The boy was supposed to go to college
The bullet was a failing grade he couldn't outrun

The fact is
His name was Michael
And the cop has no remorse
No rightful name for the blood on his hands

The cop held his fear
Like the weapon it is
In this forgetful land
And the gun
It knew the boy would run

That when chased, he would respond as any prey would when hunted. 

#blackpoetsspeakout

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