(Poet’s note: Read as a single poem from left to right)
 
Red                                         Line
            by DENISE NICHOLE
 
Boys from the block                 don’t leave their corners.
Won’t tell anyone                     where they’ll be.
With a pocket full of                 wrinkled cash,             a package with no address.
 
Nights are boisterous now.     Humming with stolen cars and semi-trucks.
For every firecracker,               a roulette of sirens followed, a heart stopped.
 
We wake to the mechanical    bellows. Discontented by the transit.
Of dime, duffle, and                 body bags.
Broken down lemons               without window glass.
 
Neighbors cautiously               peek through the blinds.
Please don’t                                let my brother die.
 
Oh, but if he is guilty–             If he flees–
If he pleads–                              If he reaches for something in his pocket
or in                                             his glove compartment–
 
If he reads books–                    If he plays with toy guns just for fun–
If he’s in his grandmama’s      yard–                                      
If he                                             runs–
 
Lower your gun officer.          Let him breathe.
 
Cause we’ll still be                   from the wrong
side of                                         the tracks.
 
Wrong color.                           Wrong zip code.
Wrong place.                           Wrong time.
 
South side.                              White flight.
Chain-linked.                          Red lined.

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Denise Nichole, MFA, is the Editor in Chief of The Hellebore Press and Founder of HUES Foundation. She currently teaches and resides in Sacramento, CA. Her writing focuses on adolescence, mental health, culture, and identity. She enjoys perfecting the art of charcuterie boards, listening to women fronted indie bands, and being a light to all who know and love her. Tweet her @DNicholeAndrews.