it was the day after

it was the day after

In the morning
I walked to school like a fish
remembering to do all the right things, 
not running across the street
but looking both ways and walking,
if we didn’t
Mister Page
a dark man with white gloves
navy blue suit
brass button like tiny cymbals
would twist our ears
when we went home for lunch.

I cut across the baseball diamond
sat at a bench
used as the dugout,
I sat next to John Welsh and waited for the bell,
I noticed that no one from my neighborhood
sat next to us
but starred at me
and I didn’t know until Darryl Perry’s brother came
and said,
reminded me,
that Martin Luther King was killed yesterday
and I said I knew,
but then he asked me how I could sit next to John Welsh
and I said, “whadd’ya mean?”
and he said, “he’s white,”
and I said I knew,
but didn’t we just play football yesterday
against those kids from upper montclair
and didn’t John Welsh own the only helmet out of any of us
and didn’t he let us use his helmet like always,
anyone that carried the ball wore John’s football helmet,
and even though the kids from upper montclair
figured out that whoever wore the helmet was going to get the ball
no one got hurt because at least John Welsh had a helmet,
and didn’t Martin Luther King die in Memphis
and even though John could take a bus to Newark airport,
or JFK, or his mother could drive him there
sure, he could’ve left for Memphis right after school
and not gone home but left for the airport
(I didn’t think John Welsh had a gun
I don’t know if John even knew how to use a gun
maybe his father had a gun, but that’s getting so complicated).

Besides, didn’t we play football yesterday
against those kids from upper montclair,
and even though they figured out our offensive plays didn’t we win anyway,
didn’t David Zanoni catch the winning touchdown
        and he’s white
and didn’t he cry when he got hit
but held on anyway
landed on his back
David seemed not to be able to breathe
and then his face mashed up
he began to whimper
and even though you could hardly hear him
or see his body shudder
he sneaked out sobs
and didn’t you feel sorry for him and rub his chest
and say he was alright
and take off the helmet so he could breathe
and didn’t you help him up and tell him he won the game?
so why wouldn’t we be friends with John?
sure white people are the only ones
crazy enough to try to assassinate anyone,
white people are the only ones’
that could possibly get away with it
still, I knew it wasn’t John Welsh.