Too many Black bodies,
Know the unwelcoming
Pavement as their home.
I can smell the sadness
That seeps through their pores.


Sorrow that furiously
Enters my nostrils
Like tornados yielding eviction notices. 



Pupils that beg
For eye contact.

They are empty change cups
That fill to the brim
Through the locking of retinas. 


Begging,
More for the reminder
That they too are human,
Than for the change
That will provide little of what it boasts.

Open caskets
With the bodies of suicidal souls.
Lifeless faces rearranged
To show a glimpse of joy.


The scene is rich with irony.
These dead are smiling.
While the barely living
Don't have the same luxury of tranquility. 


Words claw their way outside of mouths,
Fighting
To reach a listening ear.
Suffering
Such alienation,
From being unaware
Of their origin or direction.
When the body and mind lose
Their living accommodations,
Words still yearn
For a home.

Black bodies litter the streets.
And sanitation crews wonder
Whether to place the lifeless bodies
Into the truck’s trunk,
An open casket.

I wonder,
When was the last time
One of their names was
Spoken into existence?

How difficult is it,
To forget who you are?