Golden Shovel Meets Blind Goddess of Justice

… after Langston Hughes You know how they do. They say that we run, that we fit descriptions, but justice ain’t blind, she just sees who she wants. Is it any wonder we hold our breath? A body ain’t a body when they label it a threat. Blind fold her, watch her peek, call her a goddess. Watch her drop the scales. Watch how balance is a myth chased between our nana’s prayers and a judge’s gavel. They got this thing for claiming fear while standing over bodies. To serve, to protect—who? Which way to run when history's got a knee pressed upon the we aried? Red light, blue light, a flash, a name gone black. Mothers wailing thru the street. We are n’t new to this. My father knew. And his father wise. Still, she won’t look. Her hands steady but the bandage doesn’t stop her from peeking. It hides but we see it slip. MLK's two Americas on display. Wounds keep festering and this country born of scars and sores struts like a wayward siren. That same scream, same prayer, same fear. Once we thought time might change things. Perhaps we were fools to hope. Seems we were. Though standing here. Still, we look her in the eyes. ###