a poem for the oppressed

"Despicable, calculated, vicious"

  they stood grinning
  over the corpses of black men
  with illusions of immunity
Speaking of patience, healing

  with voices subdued
  they stumble as though half asleep
  with illusions of unity
Speaking of patience, healing

They say how tragic it is
  that some police were killed
  in the line of duty
And mumble about patriotism
But this does nothing
  but amuse us,
  the oppressed,
  for we know
They are the killers
  enforcers of white supremacy
  enforcers of poverty
  enforcers of misery

They speak of a race war
  when white supremacy comes under fire
And speak of progress
  when black men are gunned down on camera

But we know
  All the SWAT teams and propaganda
  in the whole world
  cannot stop the onsetting storm.

We will grind this empire into dust
  with the names of the slain still on our tongues.

-Connor Stevens