Voodoo on MLK

Manchile’

too much life
too soon.

Our paths crossed by
The Will.
I,
your helper
You,
my case
and
somehow we became
more
so much more.
My arms were
too short to
stop you.
Your destiny had been chosen
and I tried to
keep it from
being yours…
but my arms were too short.
Who was I to think
I could make a difference.
That I could catch
time
and
make it stop
so you would not
become another one.
Maybe
it was because
I saw me
mine
yours
OURS
or
maybe
it was because
I could not
accept the
labels:
incorrigible,
personality disorder,
slow,
bad,
troubled,
at-risk,
or
maybe it was
just my damn job.
They said your survival was
doomed from the start.
No father,
alcoholic DD mother,
poor,
black,
nappy-headed,
Manchile’
I, we, us
have failed you
another
labeled-one
riddled
with nine bullets.
Who could shoot
another chile’
nine times???
(probably another chile’)
your mother asked
“why couldn’t you save
my chile’…”
and I had no reply
I couldn’t tell
her you were just
another case to me.
Because
you weren’t.


(dedicated to Robert E. Simmons, III 7/18/90-10/6/05)
© 2005 swing first productions