“Debt”
Just wait.
I’m sure there’s something more
That I can give
To make this even….
……what about my faith
And everything that I believe in?
Will my drive serve
As a handsome barter
Or should I be pushing harder
To make you feel whole?
Is my discomfort worth your comfort?
Should I give you my soul?
Are these bullet holes
That rip through my neck and spine
A fine enough form of penance?
Is the fact
That I am sentenced to death
Without the right to due process
Only an impedance to your progress
If you end my life with regret?
Could you have at least
Issued me a receipt
Before I bled out
And slumped over this passenger seat?
Hold on a second.
With discretion,
Would you say
That it was one hell of a deal
That to the press you reveal
That the deadly weapon concealed
Was found on me
When it was initially in your possession?
Would you then begin to feel
Like I’ve catered to your appeal?
State your number
If those beyond it would be spared.
Does the precinct pool their wages?
Will my belongings be shared
And swapped around?
Have I such little value?
Have you
Revisited the time
When we were auctioned off?
Would that provide enough pause
To reconsider my worth?
Can my time spent here on earth
Be viewed as something
More than wasted and tragic
Or am I only fit to serve
The most destructive of your habits
That you will likely lose no sleep over?
What is the difference in numbers?
Is there more of a bonus to shoulder
If you leave those I care about
With a body to weep over?
Will pressing your knee
Against my neck
Prevent that bounced check?
Does my cracked spine
And blood that I painfully vomit
Help secure that direct deposit?
How can we negotiate fair
Whilst I’m gasping for air?
Is it expected that I concede
Before or after
Telling you that I can’t breathe?
Is my latest lead acceptable?
Tell me if after this spectacle
You find the price
To agree upon
Since my kneeling isn't legitimate.
I hoped to bring about some change
But learned that my persecution
Brings about your benefit
So I suppose that at the end of it
Once I'm undermined,
Broken
And humiliated,
The expectation is that I'd be inundated
With ways that I resisted
And stories of how persistent
I was so that the affliction
Could then be justified.
Cleared the block
And turned off your cameras.
Can’t have this televised.
Slapped on cuffs
And tossed me into the truck.
Took me for a bumpy ride.
Could’ve just given me a ticket
But was content with my “suicide.”
Was sure I’ve paid well past my limit
But there’s no bargain to being
Both black and alive.
My existence is costly for you
And that’s something that honestly,
We both already knew.
Devin Joseph Metz
6.4.2020
