3 Poems: Targets, In Response, Reasons for Release
3 Poems: Targets, In Response, Reasons for Release
If only it hadn’t been 1946 on a remote back road
in a rural town in North Carolina, but it was;
or if your brother hadn’t stayed late after school for extra help
with his homework, but he did;
or if those three white boys speeding through the back streets of town
hadn’t spotted him walking towards them,
or if one of the boys hadn’t had bottle of
Coca-Cola and decided on a game of target practice,
or if only the driver didn’t lean out of his window and whip the glass bottle
at your brother’s head, yelling, “Catch Nigger!”,
or if the bottle hadn’t ricocheted off your brother’s jaw leaving
a scar he would carry for the rest of his life, but it did;
or if only the pain he felt from his bleeding chin had outweighed his anger,
or if he hadn’t gripped the bottle and in a moment of rage thrown it back
towards the speeding truck narrowly missing its bumper,
or if the three boys hadn’t been watching in the rearview mirror and
spun around in hot perusal of the boy, but they did;
or if only they stopped chasing him when he cut into the woods,
or if they didn’t jump out of their truck and run down behind him,
or if your brother hadn’t tripped over an elevated root,
scraping his knee and slowing him down, and he did;
or if you hadn’t been on the front porch waiting for him to get home,
or if your brother’s tears hadn’t mixed with the blood of his chin,
running down the sleek neck you eyed with worry,
or if you hadn’t seen those three boys closing in on him,
or if your father didn’t leave his rifle beside the sofa in the living room,
or if only those boys fled when they saw you with that double barrel,
or if only they stopped approaching when you told them to,
or if only they listened when you warned them,
or if only they had taken you seriously,
but they didn’t.
In response to being questioned by authorities the morning she was arrested for firing two shots into the ground with a double-barreled rifle near the feet of three boys that had chased her brother in their 1939 Chevrolet pickup before jumping out of their vehicle and pursuing him on foot through the wooded shortcut he ducked and dodged through to get home and evade his pursuers in all their unyielding fury for a reason he was sure stemmed much deeper than the launch and miss of an empty Coca-Cola bottle that they had thrown at him only moments prior
I was protecting my brother
Reasons for Release
Heard her daddy and sheriff served together
That her daddy saved sheriff’s life
Cuz she a young girl and ain’t no one
want no marshal sniffin’ round here
And when them boys’ uncle took them to the
station they said she shot at them
Cuz when the police pulled them bullets from
the ground their trajectory was pointing down
Cuz them boys was on they property
and had no business being there
Since her grandmamma took care of sheriff’s
wife when she was a baby
Cuz she a pretty young thang with killa’ legs
and one of them police boys want her
And them boys’ parents tore up they hind parts
for stealing they grandpappy’s truck
Cuz black folks ain’t got no rights
but to protect they home
Cuz the police couldn’t figure out
what to charge her with
Since them boys’ mama been buying her
jarred peaches from her mama for ten years
Cuz her brother had to go to the hospital and
get ten stiches in his jaw and four in his leg
And her granddaddy drove her brother over there
and made him apologize for throwin’ that bottle
Cuz she could have killed em’
but didn’t
Cuz the white folks in town
respect her family
Since she’s always been
a good girl
Cuz she was right,
no,
Cuz she was lucky
A Canadian poet, Morgan Christie’s work has appeared in Aethlon, Blackberry, Hippocampus, Germ Magazine, Moko, and elsewhere. She will be attending the University of Oxford to attain her Masters in Creative Writing this fall.