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The first time, a black man was shot, and it made the news
                                             she texted all of us.
“Are you okay?”         
         flashed across my screen
                     like the first reminder that we are still human.
         That we have not become detached beings,
                  believing everything we see on a screen is fake,
                                 just like the movies we’ve seen,
                                            about young men being killed.
         It was the reminder we needed
                           to remember we have voices.
                                But there is a new protest every month.
The second time, a black man was shot, and it made the news
         I waited for the text and it did not come.
                                 Now, I have begun to stop expecting it.




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