Bang Poem by Maya Hanson

Every day is a
new hill to climb.

My breath is a hurricane
building pressure in my ears
as I trudge up the slope.

That cop's watching me.
I don't know his name but
I know his story, same as all the others.
Blue eyes, ruddy face,
skin pale as the clouds,
claims he's colorblind
but curses my black brothers crushed on the concrete,
dry gray pebbles spilling into their mouths.

I stride toward him to get to my car,
the exhaustion weighing on my face
and probably making me look like
not exactly the most pleasant guy ever.

Well, at least I haven't
been shot yet.

BANG.

I hear it paired with the sight
of the cop's hidden twenty-two.

The bullet races at the speed of thought
it's too fast too fast too fast
my heart pounds
to catch up with it
sweat trickles down my arms
as I bolt.

The bullet sears fire along my side, I'm
smacking the ground like a train wreck,
eyes going black,
disconnected from the world I wish for
that is just
and fair
and colorblind
and doesn't pull a gun
on any black kid
walking out of church.