GHETTO BIRDS

by Auburn Wilson IV

“ghetto birds” is slang for police helicopters

Ghetto Birds, cawing from megaphones

He’s been here before
A thousand times
A thousand ways
He knows the routine:
Ankles X’d, fingers interlocked Face to the ground

Stomach to the street
Facing away
Eye-contact means addressing his humanity He was going for a walk

Ghetto birds, sound a call without warning

How from a hundred feet below does he fit a description? How from a hundred feet below can he ever be seen?
How the hell is he supposed to ignore Satan in his position? Clawing at him from the gravel

Biting at his underbelly
Daring him, daring him to fight back To look up and to terrify them

Ghetto Birds, Jim Crow in shiny metal paint

Maybe it’s his kids
Two already grown
But all he hopes is that he taught them enough
Enough to survive
But not so much for his son to be the next
Martin, Malcolm, John Baldwin, Fred Hampton, Bobby Seale, Huey Newton Fuck forty acres the kid wants fifty states you can keep the mule
Angry and loud enough for the government to make him fall
Even it causes the fall of everything this country seems to stand for
Just let that boy breathe
He shouldn’t need to call out for his mother

Ghetto Birds, circle fields, we are not welcome Maybe it’s what he was taught

Take the ticket
Take the cuffs
Take the beatings
Take the unjust sentence just
Just take whatever they give you
Just to make sure you make it out alive But what if this cop’s the one

The one looking for a reason
The one who sees a wallet, a phone, a hairbrush as a gun He’s not a bad apple if he’s following orders
He’s not a bad apple if he’s from a rotten orchard

Ghetto Birds, Jim crow needs his goddamn wings clipped

Today is not the day he sighs
Resigns himself to the dehumanization but thankful
The next time his children see him will not be on a T-shirt His city will not rally around the video of his execution
He will not be a martyr
He will not be a driving force
He’s run his race
He’s tired, and he knows he’s not alone in the fight anymore He trusts the young ones in the streets,
In the driver’s seat
They’re angry, righteous, unafraid
They’re uniting
They’re driving him and his
To a promise 158 years in the making

Ghetto Birds, Jim Crow’s getting his goddamn wings clipped

Untitled
photograph
Mira Belle Arbreton