Uniform

Perhaps they kept crayon in the lines

their cartoon hero Mighty Mouse 

with his red cape and speedo

with yellow tights

right fist in the air

as they dream about the streets

where they save the birds from cats

Then there are the colored lights

racing through a dark city

attracting moths that fly

around the driveways

on top of their black and whites

Later in the bar with their loud spouts

taunting their fellows with jokes

or experience of the people

they've collared but not collars

steel bands and chains

that their victims see as

remnants of the days of slavery

only it's a new master

that keeps them in their neighborhood

with rifled barrel and clubs

It's still “nigger” town to some

in whatever city they prowl

who never experienced

the music of the Duke Count or Marsalis

the words of Hughes or Baldwin Giovanni

or the art of Basqiat

and photos of Parks

who never heard of this or that massacre

Rosewood or Tulsa

less than a hundred years ago

when Jim Crow was the law

Jim Beam is a policeman's blood

and kids didn't mix in schools

much to the loss of the entire population

where respect never crosses into empty hearts

when the boiling streets beg the question

from a black therapist helping an autistic patient

away from the safety of the building

who follows every command yet wonders

“Sir, why did you shoot me?”

and the answer is only

“I don't know.”

Welcome to the town near a reservation

a word that sounds like your suite

at a tall brick hotel in the hill-lined city

filled with beautiful furniture and high tea at four

where the school system rids itself

of the “injun” counselor

who managed to keep the Lakota boys in school

or the girls from hanging themselves

in their well-appointed suites

provided by their reservations

somehow eight people manage

to drown in the small creek

ruled accidents and suicides

where one witness says

she saw someone roll a body

into that creek

the witness ignored

or shootings are justified as

suicide by cop

he lunged

with a kitchen knife

The officer who just happen

to forget his less than lethal tools

where the white officers

stay away from the wacipi

at the civic center

because they know they're

not welcome

because they don't understand

the questions raised

by people whose great-grandparents

were shot down at the Knee

loved ones buried in a trench

by soldiers awarded

Congressional Medals of Honor

Is there honor in slaughter

again the question

“Why did you shoot me?”

and the answer is only

“I don't know.”

A uniform can be worn to infect

or it can be traded away

for membership

in a community to protect

Barry G. Wick