Being Black on Friday – Adrian Inniss
Brine yes, the taste of salt still linger,
Even after I cough and spit
Pulsing, pounding, raging thunder,
Feeling much like my head, would split.
My arms, I can move
But, I cannot feel my fingers
Broken ribs, gun butt, pistol whipped and blisters
And in my leg, I feel a splinter
Dragged and thrown like already dead
Open pick up. Steel toed boot.
To stomach, to chest and to head
Kicked into eyes, swollen and blood shot.
Agonizing! That is an understatement,
For this unfortunate predicament,
A conflate of mud, tears and salty Blood
Behind the pain I cry, I brood.
I am, as I am demure.
And all this for what you say,
In my Demesne, arrested and beleaguered
Just for “Being Black” on Friday
Adrian Inniss
No comments:
Post a Comment