Bullet Proof Vest
So the story goes.
A new soul for the world.
Ambition of plenty,
Ready to grasp the world,
right between his hands.
He didn’t know it at the time,
But from the starting line.
Injustice and hate,
Awaited his arrival.
But mama always told him,
The world was a good place.
That if he looked he could find it,
Would find it.
Would find the kindness that lay within.
He grow up and grow up fast.
Grow up with toy guns,
And they might have guns but you’ll be in trouble if you carry a pocketknife.
He was a clever kid.
Oh, he was so bright.
Like the sun surrounded by stars.
Mama told him,
on his first day of school.
Go make your mark.
This is the start of a better time.
Work hard and you’ll be just fine.
Fast forward five years.
That boy is surpassing his peers.
His teacher is double cheeking his tests.
Can a kid from his background
Really be the best in the class?
Not the first racist prick, certainly not the last.
Mama told him,
The best revenge is a major success.
So he continued.
Eight years later.
He’s going to collage,
Gonna get a degree.
Proved his teachers wrong.
Mama’s so proud,
Boys around here.
They don’t finish school let alone go to uni.
Six months after,
He wore his graduation robe.
Passed all his classes.
It’s Friday night.
He’s getting the bus home.
Walking through the ghetto.
He’s all alone.
He’s perfectly fine though.
Then a police car pulls up.
He knows to fear.
Mama always told him,
Listen to every word they say,
This might be a rough place but
Darling, they are the most dangerous people for a man of your race.
The policeman jumps out,
starts asking questions.
It’s going okay but it is a cold evening.
Standing there in a coat full of holes.
That boy is so tired been working all day, ya know.
He forgets what his mama told him,
He forgets where he is, who’s standing in front,
puts his cold hands in his pocket,
Bang, Bang, Bang!!!
The shots sang.
it’s not even dark and the local kids run from the sound,
they’re far too used to it echoing around.
that harmless human boy,
falls to the ground.
Another human shot him.
Shot him down.
Two minutes past, now his mama’s by his side,
“My baby, My Baby boy”
blood staining the concrete.
The dreaded light appears and the end grows too near.
His mama whispers into his ear,
We’ll get you justice or at least we’ll try.
Then he closes his eyes.
shouts the man in the bulletproof vest,
ya know the one employed to protect,
ya know the one that shot him dead.
His hands placed on his head.
but it’s okay,
Cos try as his mother might,
Justice is rare and out of sight.
Two months pass,
That man behind the trigger,
He has the best lawyer on the job,
puts it down to fear and not pure evil racism.
That boy’s mama had to get the bus to the court,
And the fair was a struggle,
So you know the rest.
We know too well how the story goes.
His mama is crying by a gravestone,
Whimpering a sorry,
Sorry that the last words he heard was a lie.
Six months later that man is back in that bulletproof vest.
All that remains of his crime,
are some wilted flowers and laminated photographs on the pavement,
that blood-stained pavement.
That he passes every day.
The twisted part is five minutes down that road and on the pavement,
there are some more wilted flowers and laminated photographs,
on yet another blood-stained pavement.