Courtesy of Dan Dennis/Unsplash.
You’d think there’s more copper in a black man
blood than in a penny—every time they shoot
dollar signs spring from his back don’t matter
whose face they print on bills whose
they chisel into minerals dead is dead money ain’t
nothing not even time watches
tick till hands exhaust—
that’s a heartbeat not a slot machine
we all assigned worth
armed pieces gold-dipped
a fiat they lynchin’ us
wit our own braids
while a copper body is still warm
they cover for it in hundreds say it rained so
we rush to pack our cheeks
with change
let it be done
as when they brought us above deck
made us dance to keep exercised
’cause tired bodies don’t rebel
oh don’t they do the police in different voices