I swore I wouldn't fall
for the banana in the tailpipe
this time, but I did
cause he was just a kid -
stalked and shot like he was some wild jungle panther,
and what could be the answer to that
Sometimes, race cards are what you're dealt.
But, we're too politically correct these days,
afraid to call a spade a spade
(or a cracker a cracker).
No, we stand our (willfully blind) ground
and seat an all-white jury
that sees shady character under every hoodie
and criminal potential in an individual
just out, about, and walking black
even if he's the victim.
So, go ahead and take back your Skittles and signs (of the same old same old times).
We ain't all Trayvon Martin, yet. Not yet.
If we were, these assholes wouldn't always get away.
Process Note: I don't usually do these type of notes, but I thought that I'd go ahead and belabor the obvious; the wordplay here is deliberately offensive. My point is that in this country, we like to point to our moral outrage when someone like Paula Dean admits to using the n-word back when dinosaurs roamed the earth as evidence that we are a post-racial society. Meanwhile, our racially biased criminal justice system incarcerates (and subsequently disenfranchises) blacks at nearly six times the rate of whites. But, that's not sexy enough for news, is it?
Anyway, this is for Izy' s movie line prompt at Real Toads. The first lines of my poem reference Beverly Hill's Cop (" . . . and we're not gonna fall for a banana in the tailpipe."). The last line references the statement George Zimmerman made to a 911 dispatcher before shooting and killing Trayvon Martin.