Breathe
By S.G. Parker
(Medium Swing)
Birdland. A hot summer night. ‘Move.
Along.’ The white cop tells him. ‘Me?
For what?’ The man is well-dressed. Black.
He points. ‘See that sign up there? Miles
Davis. I’m playing inside—’ BAM!
Split head. ‘You’re under arrest!’ SLAM!
You do the show. Armed Forces Day, Voice of America. Outside.
Jude kisses you. She takes the cab while you take a moment. To breathe.
A voice shouts, ‘Move!’ ‘For what?’ you say, as you turn to the cop. He smirks.
‘Move on or else.’ You point at the bright-lit marquee above. That's me.
'So what? he says. ‘I don’t give a Goddam where you’re working.' You stand.
You do not move. You're struck from behind and taken away. For what?
They hear. Miles play Kind of Blue. So clear.
They see. A white cop stop and sneer. ‘Move on.’
They shrug. At the daily scene. ‘So what?’
They say. Just a bad apple. Again.
Justice. In America. Then.
August. 1959. Damn.
I play. Kind of Blue and hear the news of George Floyd. Plead.
To the white cop. I can’t breathe, again. Again.
2020. Sixty years; what’s changed? <hush>
I read. Headlines of hatred, intolerance, bigotry, prejudice. Right and left.
For what? How will that create change? When?
Will I. Make a stand and say. No.
Enough. Enough is enough. Enough.
Is enough is enough. Enough is enough is enough is enough is enough is. Enough.
SO WHAT? Is enough is enough is enough is. Enough.
FOR WHAT? Is enough is enough is enough is enough is enough. Enough.
It’s You. And I, Us and Them. Now.
All lands. Each and every night. Stand.
For what. Is right; for justice. Peace.
So what. Is wrong is righted. Changed.
For good. Until we all can. Stand.
As one. And each be free to. Breathe.