Ku Kops Klan

With fascist fist, white CHAUVINist (whose christian name is Drek)

hailed pearly Knights in Kevlar tights who spurn the ebon fleck,

and joined the Kops enforcing stops which keep black pawns in check.

 

Floyd feared the Kops (most drenched in drops that racial rules distill),

so long confined, entrapped, entwined in whitewashed webs until

he drew the straw that lured the law: a twenty dollar bill

 

for cigs he bought (no ’twasn’t pot) while at the corner store

and when he left, they called it theft at which he turned and swore,

strode to his car (which wasn’t far), to meet the nevermore.

 

The Kops arrived, so chaos thrived when justice was deployed

as knees were pressed, ’gainst neck and chest (which Chauvin so enjoyed);

though Floyd lay cuffed, like candles snuffed his light of life waxed void.

 

A knee to neck? Yeah, what the heck, when forced to come to grips

with someone prone that fate has flown within a wind, who quips

“Please, I can’t breathe”… whose words still seethe that labored past his lips.

 

With windpipe crushed, through time unrushed (eight minutes last so long),

Floyd’s face seemed bent with eyes intent, and Chauvin’s smile was strong;

with bated breath of pending death, a chill chased through the throng.

 

Well Drek knelt proud before the crowd (no need of secrecy)

for, being copped, Floyd’s breathing stopped, while knuckled neath the knee.

Yes, poor old Floyd had been destroyed – “Mamaaa...” his final plea.

 

Epitaph

 

A single soul... but on the whole, Floyd’s death’s a metaphor 

of crush and shove, by those above, until we breathe no more,

with twisted faces, lacking graces, pressed upon the floor.

 

As with attacks against the blacks and others, be they poor

we’re never told the manifold of deaths within this war  -

we’ll bumble blind until we find just what we’re mourning for.

 

The ruling class controls, alas, the press, that wanton whore,

that dupes, misguides and always hides that septic social sore

for on the whole, we’ve no control, it’s rotten to the core.

 

Without a clue as what to do, we’re thralled as heretofore,

but nonetheless with due finesse, there’s plenty to restore:

the common good and brotherhood, world peace for evermore.

 

We must embrace the human race, its oneness not ignore -

so for our part let’s make a start with each hand on an oar,

as mainsails swing to finally bring the freedom ship to shore.