YOU MAD?! by Robalū Gibsun
YOU MAD white man’s interstate paved over your greatgreatgrandpappy’s grave, huh? Your African ancestors braved the disease-plagued bowels of a slaveship, for you to die in the bowels of a project you still ain’t human, you property, an object raised on, cartoons and corn syrup, coughing done played outside too long, when Whiteman in black van was plotting your demise pressing the exhaust and the hood is a gas chamber your people caught in as the money falling out your family’s wallet builds more jails to keep your people barred in YOU MAD, reflecting on back when them drug boys robbed that delicatessen, ran back to the block and sold your mama ROBitussin to rock you back to sleep on nights mama kept fussin with your father, ‘cause that nigga was too bitch to be husband, but dog enough to tuck his tail and get married to hustling, YOU MAD at your father, who’d rather raise a gang of drug boys on the corner who sprout up like roses to get chopped by choppers and escorted to the coroner or who slang to suckers like your mother who dropped you off at your aunt and uncle’s so you wouldn’t see her on the corner strung out, struggling YOU MAD at your aunt and uncle, ‘cause the lullabies they sang couldn’t rock you back to sleep on nights gun barrels kept cussin, too loud POW POW POW whole block stop-drop-and rolled to the ground same way fire hoses baptized niggas in the south YOU MAD ‘cause now instead of water, innocent sons and daughters with no armor get sprayed—with bullets and we all know it was a nigga’s finger who pulled it
73
Amendment 2013.indd 73
9/10/13 8:36 PM
