What if I tell you they didn’t evacuate

the high school after he brought in the

clock? What if he and clock waited in the

principal’s office

until the police came? You look at me

as though I pulled the fire alarm,

yelled into a crowded theatre. You

think I can erase the weapon out

of the hands of that young man in

Kevlar pointing his assault rifle at me?

Would your pain lessen? Would you

sleep tomorrow? What if I expunge the

hoodie? Outlaw convenience

stores? Institute curfew for all adult males

after 8 p.m.? Did you know that kid

loved horses, ate Skittles, went to

aviation camp? What if

I rub out midnight of the blue, blue

world? Take the jaywalk from the boy

trying to catch a city

bus? Which blue should it be? First or

second? The last thing you hear on the radio

before mashing

another button? What if there were no loosies

to smoke, steal, hawk? What if Sandy used her signal?

I say her name, I canonize the thought all

black lives matter. What if I raise my

voice? What if I don’t stop speaking?

What if I stop talking back?

Then will you miss me?