The street where George Floyd was murdered

is blocked off, roads nearby have no more parking spots.

Still, more people walk or bike to show support and watch.


Some hold signs and stand, others sit silent in the street.

The grief beneath each mask is impossible to see. Watch,


There’s nothing burning on this street, go up the road for that.

Here we lay down flowers, even toddlers were brought to watch.


The people taking pictures give up capturing the scene.

No room for social distancing, but we have to stand and watch.


Blasting up-beat music drowns out the sound of cries.
Masks trap the smells of sweat and smoke inside. Watch


Out, just north of here police are waiting in riot gear.

Batons strike even the smoky air as we weep and walk and watch. 


This poem is about: 
My community


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