Back in June 2020 I had been crashing at Occupy City Hall, sleeping on cardboard, joining hundreds of people protesting the cop murder of George Fflod in Missouri. My phone rang. It was a panicked call from Fenway s mom. My son was sick. I needed to wire money. I left the encampment with my bike, telling the cops to let me through, because I was a veteran.
As I made my way through the 12, an officer asked what war.
"The War on Drugs. We won." The DEA refuses to surrender.
Over the Brooklyn Bridge to Flatbush. It was dark and the bike's front tiredropped into a sewer grating stopping my progress. I supermaned over the handlebars and face-planted on my teeth. I rose from the pavement, expecting to spit out teeth like Chicelets. Nothing.
Bones strong.
Oh the beauty of Neanderthal genes.
Black lives matter.
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