Person, woman, man, camera, TV.
A thousand names written off today.
Now who will speak for me?
Phase-10. Skip-Bo. Niece, giver, EMT.
Eight shots. No more cards to play.
Person, woman, man, camera, TV.
Mentor. Driver. Athlete. Father, see:
he took a knee. Nothing more to say.
Who will speak for me?
In Portland, Chicago, New York, DC:
the unnamed, the masked, gassed away.
Person, woman, man, camera, TV.
George. Tamir. Trayvon. Sandra. Bre.
No one said their names today.
Please, someone speak to me.
Thoughts come, they stay, they flee.
A thousand more names to say.
Person, woman, man, camera, TV:
speak for us. We can’t breathe.
Gus Peterson lives in Maine.