So…I Smoked Crack

So… I smoked crack

not long after I got back from Iraq.

We had been up all night

and I lost track of time

after too much salt

and too many limes

and too many lines

blurring reality

and I couldn’t fight the urge to see

what sent so many black people to jail

and there were no more piss tests

so I could only fail myself

but the drug failed me

when I couldn’t see

how this was physically

any worse than vodka or whiskey

and then white privilege

finally dawned on me

when I was twenty-three

and I was getting high one night

with a white farm-hand

and I began to see

that if he had more pigment

than his farmers tan

society wouldn’t see

just a broken man

they wouldn’t see

someone who was only lacking love

they would see only a criminal

and shove him in jail,

without fail

without bail

and without someone to listen

to his depressing tale,

the way I listened

to this white farm-hand

a decade ago

when we ran out of lines to blow

and the only place

he could think to go

at 4am

was to a crack dealer

in Springfield.

 

 

 

About soitgoes1984

I was born and raised on land stolen from the Pocumtuc. I now live on a small island in the middle of the Pacific ocean, on land that was stolen more recently, from the Hawaiians. I am addict, struggling to kick the habit of fossil fuel. This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.
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