So, here we are again.

Listening to chatter on NPR. 2 Black 
sounding men discussing music. Mellow. 
Jessie Smollett popped into view.
I got up, did stuff and am at the keyboard.

I [kinda] hate going off course BUT 
it is awkward to ‘fuck-you’ peck at the keyboard with 2 fingers,
one on each hand, and use the brain mind
controlled/controlling elements to create words.

When the keyboard is in sync with my fingers, 
how what who I am is more free to be.
Celebrities have assistants to help direct the light.
Jesus had at least 12, at last count.

All that to say
if I had installed a finger to keyboard 
coordination pact, the past two stanzas
would not be there.

OK, OK, I am back on course now.
Jessie Smollett popped into view.
I shut off the radio
and am still at the keyboard.

[Let’s start off with a story.
A 36 year old gay White man walks into a police station
and addresses the Desk Clerk.]

Look at me! I have been beaten and kicked, called derogatory curse words, had an acidy substance poured over my head, and look here [Pointing] at this noose around my neck, was almost hung. They did that!

Desk Sergeant: Can you identify them?

[Let’s name the noosed guy Justin, to protect his identity.]
Justin: They were wearing ski masks, but I know they were Black.

Desk Sergeant: How do you know that?

Justin: I saw their hands when they were tightening the noose. No gloves!
[Justin doubles over and bawls!!!, for a minute or two.
He then unfolds and wipes his head and face
with the towel an officer tosses to him.]

Desk Sergeant: Justin, what was the noose attached to, and did they try to hang you with it? It’s only about three foot of rope.

Justin: Sir, they put this around my neck and said ‘The next time will be the real time’. That’s when they pushed me down and began to kick and stomp.

Desk Sergeant: Where did they kick you?

Justin: All over!

Desk Sergeant: In your face?

Justin: Yes sir, there too.

Desk Sergeant: Where are the bruises?

Justin: Uhhh . . . They must have forgotten to change their shoes before stomping me. They were wearing Soft-Toe shoes or I’d probably be dead.

Desk Sergeant: Did they sexually . . .

Justin: Whhhht? No, nothing like that.
When is a doctor going to examine me and . . .
This dried liquid itches and smells like acid.

Precinct Detective: (Whispers to Desk Sergeant) Yeah, uric.

Desk Sergeant: What names did they call you?

Justin: Right, names. Uhhh . . . Fag, Queer, Homo, Dick Suc . . .

Desk Sergeant: What ethnic slurs did they use?

Justin: Ummm . . . Let me think! Ummm . . . honkey, privileged, ummm . . .

Desk Sergeant: Is that it?

Justin: No, lots of other names, but I was in too much shock to remember.

All that to say
when a White man marches into a police station
claiming two Black men tried to lynch him, 
he’d be carted off to drug rehab or the looney bin.
Who ever heard of Black folk lynching White people
in America? Never!

So, here you have a young Black man heading to prison, and a young White man heading to drug rehab.
People say, ‘Some things never change’.

What do you say?

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