Trayvon
by Maya Angeloo
I sing of thee Trayvon
Lamented burnt umber crayon
Shoud of stayed at home
and got your lay-on
But you heard the siren song of wet grass
and headed for Seven Elevon.
Zimmerman the triggerman
Big game hunter lay in wait
White hispanic in a panic
Rubberheaded, held your fate.
By punching him, you tried to reason
You cant of known - was black-boy season
Stand your ground, ground and pound,
Frito Bandito shot you down.
My 15 yr old granddaughter writes circles around this fake wannabe. She made it because SHE was BLACK and FEMALE.