8.28

the long black car drove slowly

majestically through Boston

streets lined with faces, hands

arms reaching for

hope

and i jogged beside to keep

the inmate safe. bullets, knives

and hate also striding through

the streets reaching for

anger.

you blocked me from seeing

him! I stood all day here to see

him! my heart shrank inside.

only a man-child had I gotten

in the way.

hope needs to see, touch, feel

while our fears cover up. so

maybe I was wrong to cover

too much. but at least a bullet

didn’t hit

that day.

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