Pocket Full of Hate
It was the way he stuffed his hand down the front pocket
Of his blue slacks
As if he was standing in a movie lobby
Waiting for friends
Nonchalant
Wanting to watch you watch him with an unbreakable stare
And almost a grin
His chin
Jutted out like Trump’s
To a shocked yet thrilled crowd
That holds its breath and thinks
You don’t really have that kind of power
Do you?
Chin way out
Maybe he’s counting loose change
Down there
By the circling of his fingertips
Or weaving his pinky through a keychain
Maybe it was a judge in his pocket
Or protection by police unions, Rupert Murdoch the Koch Brothers
Those darkest angels of all
Or the lowest call of all for Law and Order
That was the comfort he sought and found
Whatever it was he felt no need to hide his deed
His freedom
To take his time suffocating another black man
Beneath his knee
Breaking the man’s wind pipe by crunches and inches
Like ten minutes to him was but a last day of vacation
Wishing he could make it last so much longer
Though he’s still not satisfied
Wants to finish the job right
Wants to observe us all doing nothing about it
For a very long time
More chin more grin
Wants to tail this damn troublemaker
All the way to the pearly gates of the county border
With that hand absent-mindedly
Poking around
Fooling around
Killing time
Deep down there
Searching for the bottom
Of his pocket
Bored
With doing his duty.
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