As a lifeguard
I guard lives
My job description is the exact opposite of a cops,
Who get paid to snuff out lives
like candles they suffocate us,
sighing in relief as our fire goes out
knowing all the flames need oxygen to burn
They figure if they treat us like Eric Garners
Stealing our breath away
They’ll be safe from being burnt
 
At an early age we learn that to exist is to always be in danger
Black is a crime
They tell us “Be calm”
“Be respectful”
“Don’t make sudden moves”
“Yes sir, no sir”
“Don’t be bold”
“Don’t talk back”
“Don’t run”
“Don’t act suspicious”
“Don’t act black”
“Don’t BE black”
 
Richard Collins III made the fatal mistake of being black
His black skin, normally absorbing sunlight,
Took in a 3-4 inch knife that night
As he waited for an Uber with friends, celebrating his achievements
A soon-to-be-graduate who just wanted to have fun suddenly became a hashtag
And like all the others
I wonder if his life flashed before his eyes
If he saw himself walking across stage receiving his diploma
Hearing his dad cry tears of joy
Instead of hearing his dad cry tears of sorrow
Hearing his dad cry as he plans his funeral
Hearing his dad cry six feet under
Or just not hearing him cry at all
The dead cannot hear
Not because their bodies are so far underground
Or because their coffins are soundproof
But because a white supremacist decided that a black heartbeat was far too loud
 
I’ve learned a long time ago that my black brothers and sisters are not safe in this world of hate.
Their skin speaking for them before they even learn how to speak
Their hair being a problem because it rebels against gravity
Innocence cannot exist in blackness
To be black and innocent is a paradox
Like how being white and guilty is contradictory
Black babies never exist in white societies
Only potential criminals and thugs
As I lifeguard I think about all of this
My job is to protect their lives
But I can only protect them from drowning in water,
Not this unforgiving society
Nor their own blood from bullets they never deserved
Or their mother’s tears as they cry over lifeless bodies
 
On duty I watch little black children play Ring Around the Rosy, Marco Polo,
and finally Cops and Robbers.
Ten beautiful little black girls, two of them play the robbers,
A girl in a blue polka-dotted swimsuit aims her water gun at a girl in a black swimsuit,
She yells,
“FREEZE, PUT YOUR HANDS UP!”
The girl complies, but polka-dots still shoots,
she giggles,
falls down,
and for a second I panic
and almost jump in.