monday morning briefing

The objective view from the mirror above
was closer to fiction than it appeared
in the media's immortalizd memories of martyrdom

We proudly shunned the cajoling overtures
of the jump-out boys on our award tour
from the south ward of this city of bricks
where they lay five down by and with the trey-

pounds and daps no longer resound like thunder claps
in these midnight blue steel skies
now its caps that got peeled from
former riverfront mill towns to chill town
where we simply stand sentry and catch a glimpse
of ground zero from afar

so our silence is our complicity
at first glance, the simplicity of block corner violence is in its pervasiveness
but after the double-take
it is evidenced by the self-defense mechanisms we use
to shut ourselves down
while we've wasted countless thousands of cuffed wrists
with an iplicit acceptance of this recidivist sense
of upheaval, dismay, and concession
where gin and juice go two for one like jolly ranchers
to suffice as our elixir
and mixed with the reoccurring agony of Watts riots
that pale in comparison to the collective mind-numbing
that decades of banging has brought forth

we used to play on courtyards lined with wood chips
and dotted with pride-colored equipment
but now next to the swings and slides
you can find paraphernalia of a different kind
and the tags that were once abstract poetic works of street artisans
are now illegible ghetto hieroglyphics
devoid of subtle beauty and meaning
backdropped against sand lots
where time passes like silent gas that sneaks up
and chokes the life you of your lungs
and the blocks we posted up on from thursday to sunday
become fodder for monday morning briefings
that come as no surprise
the mastheads may be different
but you can surmise that the headlines are all the same
from richmond to hialeah
dorchester to strawberry mansion
non-grown dark-hued boys had their souls sapped
and muted hymns and belated hallelujahs only served to
temporarily console the emotions of
already-empty-hearted youth
across the country
with no poise
no purpose
and no path to get where they need to be
so we crowd these church pews to mourn and pay homage to
loved ones long lost and simultaneoulsy seek solace in the
comfort of a safe haven
not those cold sidewalks of america's hoods
where they can avoid the same scenes
the same yellow tape
the flasing lights
of yet another barren block riddled with
barricaded windows
and hollow shell souls searching for meaning
searching for reason
as rainy seasons wash away our tears and
the spilled blood of yet another young black male that once dripped
on this very spot where we casually pour something out
and struggle just to get a grip