April(May), 2(9,8), 1992? (2020)

There’s riots on the streets of Los Angeles

No, wait

It’s Minneapolis

It seems that history often repeats itself

Or maybe it is that there is no history

That nothing has been made history

The same problems inhabit our society in relentless perpetuity

The same people

have the same problems

with the same people

that have the same problems

And nothing is done

And nothing changes

People gather in the hearts of bleeding streets

Shouting and cursing and crying

Crying from lungs and eyes

Crying for friends and neighbors

brothers and sisters

acquaintances and strangers

Crying for the morality of mankind

And when the sun begins decent under the horizon,

anger and frustration at the futileness of their pleading, boils into rage at the dying of the light

Cars and shops smolder in wreckage

National guards and cops use gas and rubber bullets

People are shot dead running with a stolen television from a pawn shop

And the cycle continues

As it has for a very long time

Systemic, senseless violence, breeds more senseless violence

But now, even the peaceful wear masks

Even in a pandemic, people will always fight for what is right and just

They flock together as if invincible

Strong in numbers as they have always been before

Because a world without justice is not worth living in

That man before,

in ‘92

That one

The one before and after

He lived to utter the words asking us if we could all just get along

This man

This other human being,

did not

Uttering the same dying words that birthed a movement six years ago

Before, police were suspended and acquitted

And leaders urged calm

Now, they are fired

And a white mayor calls for convictions

And the line in the sand is more muddled

And the line is more right

and wrong

And the situation is not so black

and white

April 29th, 1992

Los Angeles, California

A spark ignited a long-boiling rage that set a city ablaze

May 28th, 2020

Minneapolis, Minnesota

A brutal knee struck like flint over a tinderbox, igniting the gunpowder that had long been poured into the cracks, salting the wound, of a beaten, battered, and broken system

The surfaces have changed

But the depth remains the same

The same people

have the same problems

with the same people

that have the same problems

And nothing is done

And nothing changes

How long must we struggle until we can see that we are all just people trying to get by?