His hands are all I see
Fidgeting
Playing with his ring
Cracking his knuckles
He's nervous.
His hands are coarse and stern
Old
Blisters on his palms
Scabs by his nails
He's a laborer.
His hand forms a fist
Angry
Pounds the table
Smacks the surface
He's mistreated.
Soon he's in full view
His mouth forming words like
Money
Family
School
He was arguing with a cop.
A white cop.
Whose mouth seemed to be saying
Crime
Jail
Gun
The other man
Yelled
Pleaded
Cried out
Innocent
Family
Love
He was being convicted of a crime.
But he was innocent.
It was my crime, yet he was convicted.
The cop never even suspected me.
I was white, I couldn't have done it.
He was black, it had to be him.
Is skin color really the determining factor?
Skin color is like an album cover.
You never really know until you listen.
