Forks Down… (protest poetry)

 Who the fuck called us here to eat pancakes?

I am seven years old. 

I watched a video on the 9 o’clock news.

Grainy footage of a man that looks like my uncle ran on a loop for days.

 They beat him… just because he looked like us. 

Who the fuck called us here to eat pancakes?

I am 12 years old.

I watched a video on the 9 o’clock news. 

Stories of how my favorite artist was gunned down. 

Nobody knows who did it. They aren’t even looking.

Who the fuck called us here to eat pancakes?

I am 16 years old

I watched a video on the 9 o’clock news.

They made a list of all the young men that fell due to police brutality.

My city is now on fire. 

Who the fuck called us here to eat pancakes?

I am 29 years old

I watched a video on the 9 o’clock news.

That baby was only 17.

The murderer said he was standing his ground, but who gets to count their ground in public?

Everybody is posting online. 

Who the fuck called us here to eat pancakes?

I am 35 years old. 

I heard about a video, I cannot watch

The people call for us to run 2 miles. 

I heard about another video. I cannot watch. 

The whole world is on fire. 

I am so hurt I’m unable to move.

Questions are finally being asked. 

I heard about another video. I cannot watch. 

The world is still burning. I can’t find my face mask. 

I heard about another video. I will not watch. 

A boycott is scheduled. I start it early. 

I heard about another video. I cannot watch.  

There’s a pandemic so they can’t organize a brunch…

Perhaps the lack of maple syrup and homestyle potatoes has allowed for an awakening. 

Maybe the requirement for masks makes the speeches shorter and closer to the point.     

It could be the fact that we don’t have the -itis

It could be the lack of finding names prominently placed on programs replete with initials before and behind. 

I never understood why oppression paired well with eggs

Why murder washed down so easily with Mimosas

The brunches stopped, the work began, the people are fighting again. 

Don’t you CALL US AGAIN about no Muthafuckin Pancakes to wash down our pain. 

From the Author- I grew up an only child of parents that had the spirit of Activism, which has historically taken place in the streets, city hall and presented to the more conservative within our culutre via Brunch. It wasn’t until I was old enough to hear Tupac’s speech below that I realized how many times I had been in rooms just like that dinner. I was a child watching things change, but we still have so far to go. This part of the journey we can’t afford for it to be polite and confortable.

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