Mistrial

This is not the kind of poem to call a rallying cry
this is about awareness, truth and justice
this is about life’s relevancy black and white
this is about what is honorable and ultimately right

I long for the day when black lives really matter
not the kinda matter that serve your food on a platter
not the kind of matter that check your account balance
not the kind of matter that install your cable television

I wish I could place a warrior guardian next to every black child
like in the Golden Compass one which never leaves their sides
to protect and fight against the clutches of wicked men’s brutality

for Aiyana a great black bear with steel plated impenetrable armor
and as the cops busted in, her guardian rose'd up and stepped in
the sounds of bullets ricocheting returning to its point of origin

the dust settles, the sound of gun fire ceases, a crowd gathers
Aiyana’s alive and well, on the ground an evil man lays decease
Grandma and Aiyana doing the Orisha and Soukous dance

the trial: what a disgust, how could these officers betray our trust
firing on a little girl, with military grade slugs, return to sender
the jury took little time, there should have never been a trial

in the end, the guardian set free
no sad faces, no hopelessness and despair

the verdict “Mistrial”