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For the City That Nearly Broke Me

Stress this: the lit end

of anything will

burn you. & that is just

just a slick way of

saying: running will

never save you. This

man’s first son caved, fell

to the pressure, to

the barrel’s indent

against his temple.

A body given

back to asphalt.

Stress this: we never

gave a fuck, not ’bout

Malik or how the

bullet didn’t split

the air, but split those

edged-up, precise hairs

of his caesar, to save

the man the burden

of years fearing death.

from Bastards of the Regan EraFind more by Reginald Dwayne Betts at the library

Copyright © 2015 Reginald Dwayne Betts
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, LLC on behalf of Four Way Books.

Published in Poems Reginald Dwayne Betts

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