Outrage by Xavier Jones

“Anything in your pockets we should know about?”
I wish I could have said “My pen”
If they ever read this I’ll bet they’ll wish
They actually had the order of the public prosecutor to stop and frisk

Three against one, but unassailable in my innocence
All of us wearing masks to protect ourselves from one virus
And yet three germs from another surround me
I knew I would never know immunity
From this disease whose immunity is almost absolute impunity
Because laws are for people not in uniform
Rights are for those with guns

Alright, let’s get this over with

Not satisfied with one act of misconduct
One of them proceeds with the pat down
I guess 1351495 must have been a wannabe/failed doctor before this
As 1351495 tested my reflexes with a caress of my testicles
The one time my reflexes failed because somehow a cooler head prevailed
But wait, apparently this was part of their “judiciary requisition”
So maybe I had something they were clearly short of
Maybe 1351495 was tired of being a eunuch
And wanted a reminder of what they were missing
Or maybe 1351495 wanted to see if I would fold or fight
Well, now they know

They know they’re wrong, but they’ll tell themselves they’re right
Just like their superiors will when anybody fights
Because the rules are the same in the streets and the precinct. No snitching!
And so the impotent police pretend to police the police, but in private, fearing the public
So in some cases the murderer can say their victim died of “natural causes”
In others the thief can say they “found” the assets in question
And so a court jester sits in for a judge
Just in case there was a need to efface any trace of faith in this farce
Called “accountability,” formerly known as Justice

I can’t take names, so I take numbers
Enter 1448039, literally
I guess the need for attention was too great
As the arousal from this abuse of power
Produced an exaggerated erection that was supposed to impress me
As a right arm gives me a close-up
To a number they hope will cover their face, alongside a medical mask
Playing the shower, you’re not even a grower, you just put a strap on!

As a former musician I know the power in the sound of silence
And yes, 1458746, you contributed to the violence
By playing the boot-licking mute
Running my ID hoping to dispute my innocence
After 1351495 found nothing in my bags,
Not even bothering with my five coat pockets
The rage that faded from my fists I had to stock it
In my head until this graphite could unlock it
And with three fingers give the three of you the one
That acts as the barrel of a finger gun

A few quick texts, I’m not in the mood to talk
But now Mom can’t get back to sleep
Because her only thought is getting her son home
But I already am, despite what my passport says
And I won’t run, I’ll forever walk
Down the streets with a chip on my broad shoulders
That is more honorable than their epaulets
Girlfriend gets the uncensored version of the ordeal
With every expletive I feel I cleanse this text of superfluous impurity
She cautions me not to play the fool
So I pick up this pencil, start from the west side, and try to play it cool

Those deprived of justice can only dream of vengeance
Or the eventual fall from grace of the disgraceful ne’er-do-well
I don’t seek the former or expect the latter
So how do I find contentment?
By knowing those hands that violated me
Simultaneously laid a stone and dug up dirt
The prison of popular contempt will one day be finished
The tomb of their institutional worth will go deeper
Than all the wrinkles in all the furrowed brows
That long to be smoothed by public outrage
Since only deaf ears were turned to many an outcry

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