mike brown

by mickharris

when i read the testimony of the officer who shot a kid

what i see in my mind is not the lumbering threat of a grown man

arms up

ready to reach for a throat

to hurt.

i see the staggering steps of a child


they are his last


when i googled the news in the car on the way home from circumventing the oakland protest on 580

i wept

he was just a kid

he was just a kid

Not an “18 year old man” or a thug or a demon or the hulk. A 6’4″ baby boy of a mom who has to spend the holidays and every day now without.

I gave myself the innocence of childhood to cry about
So I didn’t have to cry about the bodies piling up
So I didn’t have to feel the deep horror of a calculated genocide
Anywhere close to my bones.

Darren Wilson shot a kid and walked free

every black face i passed

i looked at

looked away

in shame

and fear.


do you see me?  do you know how guilty we are?

are you going to hurt me?

or are you going to walk away, weary, hoping that i don’t hurt you?

the latter

I watch a man walk quickly down 40th away from MacArthur Bart and I no longer have the luxury of innocently and idly wondering , as he looks at me behind the wheel of my hybrid and looks quickly back at his phone, which body is in control

And which one would get hurt.