I’m Trying to Write a Happy Poem

I’m trying to write a happy poem

so I sit watching the beauty of the fireflies

rapidly flashing through the trees



I’m trying to write a happy poem

but then I remember the rapid flashing

of ninety bullets firing into the blurred image

of another unarmed black man taken

at the hands of the law



I’m trying to write a happy poem

so I snuggle up closely with my dog

and listen to the sound of his heartbeat



and then I think of how Jayland Walker

doesn’t have one anymore



I’m trying to write a happy poem

so I listen to the coyote howl

in the peacefulness of the night sky



I’m trying to write a happy poem

but I hear our city government

call for peace while police

use a protestor as a punching bag



I’m trying to write a happy poem

naively hoping that somehow

enough good folks with a poem

or a song or a mural or a camera

might defeat some bad guys with guns

and badges



I’m trying to write a happy poem

but the canvas continues

to be splattered in red



I’m trying to write a happy poem

where justice wins in the end,

where the police are held accountable,

where the system is changed,

where I pull up my red hood

and don my perfectly-sized glass slippers

and follow the breadcrumbs

all the way to grandmother’s house

where the porridge is not too cold

and it’s not too hot


Because I’m trying to write a happy poem

but the wolf gobbles me up

as the clock strikes midnight

and my poem turns back

into a pumpkin

Written July 8, 2022