Originally posted 6-19-2018. Revised.
“Race doesn’t exist,
you know.
It’s just
a social construct,”
he said.
I jabbed him gently
in the face
with my real fist.
When
real men
showed up waving
real guns
and real badges,
I indicated
that whatever
we all did next
in response
was in fact a social construct —
whether or not I went
easily, whether or not
they took me down, whether
I lived or died or they lived or died —
none of it was real
and all of it
should be easily ignored,
but for some reason
they did not ignore a thing.
Was arrested, a social construct.
Made bail, a social construct.
Went to trial, a social construct.
Pled out, a social construct.
Got probation, a social construct.
Came out marked
and civically blighted,
a social construct.
Race is
a social construct
that works better for me than for many.
That’s real.
Money is
a social construct
that works better some days
than others for me,
better overall for some folks,
much worse overall
for others.
That’s real.
What’s real
is a social construct
unless it’s
a mountain
or a desert
or a robin
or a lion
or the skin
you’re in,
the hair you
grow or do not grow,
the strength of
your pulse or
the jerk it makes
as it slows and stops
in response to a bullet
entering your body.
How quickly it stirs
at the screaming
of a child not your own, or at
the sight of
someone else’s blood
on a cracked street?
That’s a social construct.
On page or screen
I’m a social construct.
I wish sophistry
wasn’t so damn real.
Dark Matter 