A poem by our wonderful Dilly Arts Board Director Sheree Mack ….
Three MinutesSo there was a security camera, they leave with justa few cigarillos and a shove. If the badge in pursuitknew of their involvement or not, the wind was never even, never as easy as black and white.This is what I see: the urban streetsas barbed as wire – unequal, unsafe.But in my world, I'd rather paper over the anger,walk through murky mists, cling to fiction. Justice is a fiction of my mind: two black teenagersand a cruising police officer. *Get on the sidewalk*. An abrupt collision of path. A struggle, a gun is fired. Bullets meets flesh. The youths flee. Only to be gunned down animals. I think his hands were raised, swaying just like trees; a boy extending, begging for life. *I don't have a gun. Stop shooting me.* Why is it my mind tends to block out ugliness? Refuse to let reality sink in. This rot has been growing for ages, unchecked and can do nothing but snag and grow. Shoot. It has me imagining all kinds of violence happening there, here, in the name of the law, wherever there are black lives that matter. In another version, the black boy is asking for it.Shot in fear for life. He dies with his whole life in his hands.In protest, they can only burn and loot on their doors steps.Any where else, they'd be shot dead.