HELL, LOOSED

There's a special kind of
horrific
brazen condition
running haywire
among us

a many-faced
crazed delinquent
with no supervision
toting multiple personalities
stone-cold out of its mind
no watch guard
to shoot it down

this affliction
so potent
so
shrewdly influential
will have
those who should be guarding
the public
turning
their fists
tasers
tempers
lunacy
guns

their excuses

loose

on the public

no age limit
it consumes them
babies and all

but

some basic requirements are:
be walkin'
mindin' your business
with your tea and Skittles

be on a playground
with your BB gun
only 12-years
in your fingertips
caressing its frame

be changin' lanes
with no signal

be on the sidewalk
sellin' cigarettes

be a teen orphan
Judo-choppin' a tidal wave
of abandonment and rejection
your emotional wounds
a shrill operatic symphony
from the sting of its salt

be ambitious
be questionin' authority
be tryna state your case
be tryna stand up for your rights
be tryna enjoy life
be tryna do right

be tryna breathe

be tryna get home
to your little girl
on New Year's Day

be
somebody's black son or daughter
just tryna get through the day
hopin' to be greeted at your doorstep
by the moonlight
every night
instead of streamlights

be

tryna survive

And when they don't—
when they're blamed cuz they don't—
how are we
who watch our own
get obliterated
like battle-zone targets
from the sidelines of the media
supposed to
pretend we're okay
that our vision
isn't compromised
by fragments
of the unjust assaults and murders
puncturing our eyes

how are we supposed to
move through our days with ease
while treading the obstacle course
of war-torn bodies
and their mismanaged cases

keep the torch of hope
for their safety ablaze in our hearts
video footage
of their shrieks and pleas
extinguishing our flame

smile with the heaviness
of all their names
weighing our mouths down
syllables so cumbersome
they rupture our lips

swallow the air
from our jubilant bursts of laughter
and not vomit clumps of guilt

how are we supposed to
lasso this roaming hell
with so many
protective arms
and barbed-wire legal systems
surrounding it
that our hands
are disfigured
from every attempt
to pry them free  

how are they supposed to
have a chance at life
taste the sweetness of fulfillment
turn their sorrows into joys
make a difference in this world
and thrive in this abyss
where silence
conformity
and existence
are synonymous
with death?

©2015 Charlene E. Green