So Much for America
       

I was interrogated via helicopter
while taking a shortcut through
a field I was handcuffed leaving
this post office I was placed in
a line up in the middle of the street
I dress nattily I wear sports jackets
I use rubbing alcohol to keep
my sneakers clean My sweat shirts
with the stitched block letters
from certain colleges won't stop
complete strangers from searching
my crotch I whisper uncontrollably
I smile when nothing's funny Gun
at my temple Shit stinging my ear
Is that a knife in your hand I thought
protocol was the scruff of your collar
On the the curb On your stomach
Cheekbone on the hood The smell
of good wax I'm so aware of my
body Do you think about your body
Look at your hands Show me your
hands I'm returning to Ellison
I'm surrounded Your surrounded
                                        But I'm always alone

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Copyright © 2020 Amaud Jamaul Johnson All rights reserved
from The Southern Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission