The motive of this piece is to show the struggle of morality within man.
|Eighteen years old,
I see a young woman shot;
her long Jamaican body ricochets
off a graffiti wall, her beaded braids
clink against tar pavement.
My eyes hug edges of brown apartment brick
midnight black dissolving my pale stature
I see a volcano erupt from her chest,
worn yellow tank top stained by lava,
chocolate flesh in deep sleep
lies across a white painted foul-line
in barbed wire playground.
I am a witness to murder
a white girl in black man’s Providence,
My conscience shouts
Run. Get the police.
My blue cardigan wears
an ounce of cocaine.