The dragging of the dead name
Through any muck that stuck in life
To the dead man’s dancing shoes
Is part of the ritual now.
Trayvon Martin smoked weed
Mike Brown jay walked
Tamir Rice looked older than he was.
Than he’d ever be.
And now, Mzee
The police said he was violent
Had a knife.
They brought up the ASBO he’d tried to move on from
But I believe the story his mum told
Of a gentle giant
A big brother-bear
And my question remains;
Why couldn’t Mzee be a naughty boy sometimes?
Up to no good,
Pushing boundaries
Like any teenage boy would ?
Trying his best in a tough life
Why couldn’t he make some mistakes?
Why do we do this again and again?
Why does a young black boy have to be an angel
Just to justify our pain?
And what could any “naughty boy”
Any rebel teen
Any mixed up kid
possibly do
To deserve death
At the hands of the law?
And why do we keep on pretending
The system is sane?
Tom Juniper Poetry 