I am dedicating my April 30/30 poems this month to Trayvon Martin, Black America, and the Hoodie Nation

1/30:

When the weather is warm
and hands are making repairs around my house
and dirt are on my pants from the mess I made in my garden;
When the sweat rolls from my thoughts and the musk makes smell
and I am the only ugly thing standing in the field;
When the clouds make blue bubble gum and God turns on the highways
and we are all just a Western burden;
When children down the street make giggles in bouncing balls and sound like Peace Treaty's
and religions have forgotten who's wrong;
When cars are whipping around concrete
and they pass natural spirits for the day;
When dishes are piled in bellies
and a lake is drowning suds;
When the tongues shout radical words that have clearly learned how to pray
but be blessed with black wings;
When no one is watching the appointed
and hands are empty -as in- unarmed,
the armed will skip a heartbeat
and a little boy will die.