There are relationships doomed to suffer, and relationships that make suffering.
Like a cop who kisses his gun at night and lays it under his pillow.
The only Black he dares to touch
is the butt of his precinct-funded revolver;
he tends her like a prized cow raised for slaughter,
cocking his perverse killing machine.
Three shots to the innocent, like a narcissistic orgasm,
The White Man lords supremacy with sick inclination.
Power-hunger insatiable, he eats and eats and eats
at flesh with his pretty little defence mechanism;
her compact beauty, sleek and slim and at his disposal,
ready to fuck at his command.
That is, fuck someone over.
Trigger-Happy Cop fingers his Glock,
feels his freedom infringed upon
by a child with darker skin than him.
Gets a tin can to the ankle
in riots that don’t promote whiteness;
doesn’t even bleed, but
kisses his weapon awake and
raises his lover to murder so
he can sleep again at night
with his gun under his pillow.