There was a boy who hated cops,
Cow-faced, pig-bullies, power-drunk hacks.
Racism, raids, and traffic stops.

And maybe, like the boy, if they weren’t attacked,
Hadn’t gone to work expecting the worst,
Maybe they'd have had their community’s back.

But life’s not that simple; some wounds are cursed.
They made him mean, like a shelter cat,
Born into pain, already immersed.

He was a boy who never fought back,
But luck still left him, too early, too soon,
Born in the stick season, raised in the black.

How could he know that all fields bloom?
When shown only malice, one cant help but stare
Facing down evil, missing the good in the room.

Lucks for the lucky and life isn't fair
But no orchid's less beautiful than weeds just
Because orchids need more love and more care.