And Still, They Die
A poem about why they’re rioting
In the midst of a global pandemic, our culture convulses from four hundred years of institutionalized racism. Another unarmed Black man was murdered by a policeman… on video and knowing he was being videoed by a child, a teenaged girl — and concerned not at all. Our African American brothers and sisters are infected with Covid-19 and dying with nearly twice the frequency of white Americans. And still, they die at the hands of the police for mere suspicion of a crime, while armed white protestors pass unmolested.
Their voices were not heard in peaceful protests
They marched with banners and song
When they cried “black lives matter”
they were blamed as radical and thugs.
and still, they die…
When they use their celebrity
and try, try to speak for justice,
they are roundly told to shut up
Shut up and just entertain us.
and still, they die…
When they wear a graphic tee
repeating the plea, “I can’t breathe,”
they’re commanded imperiously
to wear their uniform and just play ball.
and still, they die…
When they kneel in supplication
during the national anthem,
pleading for equal justice,
they’re condemned and lose their careers.
and still, they die…
and still, they die…
and still, they die…
© 31 May 2020, by D. Denise Dianaty
