After the Afro by Quan Harris-Holley (17, North Carolina)*

2020// I (Gen. 1)
Sometimes I can’t believe how far I’ve come. 
You really only have the time to look back over your shoulder at what you left behind
when you’re not scared of what’s ahead.
I wouldn’t say I’m lucky to not be worried about putting food on my daughter’s plate
and instead about what private educational institution I should put my son in
so his son will be able to ruminate on how to cultivate his stock portfolio
instead of reminiscing about the ones who couldn't keep up.

---

You see, I’m a little different than the boys that I grew up with 
I went from a shuddering, stuttering jalopy to a Lexus
I believe it's unequivocal proof of my proficiency
In the face of natural disadvantages I was forced to face from infancy
Little things
Like being in the possession of a copious amount of melanin
In the same America that demonized the very hands that spun the web of wealth
Too many of my neighbors blindly nestle into today
But I’m different

​I lay right next to them
And yet when I see the glare of crimson and cobalt bearing down upon me 
I must admit I'm straining, stressing 
Praying to not end up as the next Keith Lamont
The next Eric Logan
The next George Floyd.
No, officer,
I didn't have narcotics,
I didn't consent to the exploration, 
                investigation, 
       examination
of my vehicle so you could scrounge around for a light in a room
With no switch.
So when it illuminated
I knew something was wrong
I reached for my pocket to record 
Because I was nervous 
and in my mind 
I was hoping for something to reassure me
I wouldn't become
       just
      another 
      name 
      on the list. 

As I lay on the calloused concrete
I can make out a blanket of red roses being drawn up to cover me.
I always wanted an open casket funeral.
But instead of my son
my daughter
or my love 
latching onto the last mortal piece of me, 
it is the icy blue eyes of a stranger
That let me go.

2320// We (Gen.8)
I love the curving roads of the superway. 
every second I’m looking over the horizon
something new is revealed, like little actors sliding into the spotlight with a cheeky grin
As if to say “Hey! Look at me man, ain’t I something?”
only for their boys to jump onstage, one after another,
a never ending encore. 
I’m getting tired of the pavement shaking the stage
So I switch up
      And lift off
                   Towards the warm, white ember glow of the moon
                    I’m shrouded in darkness, but I don’t need the light no more.
 My janky 2308 Hovermaxx model doesn't get around like a newer car,
as its radio warbles out its muffled words 
just loud enough for me and all my friends to shout along  
as my ride glides
taking me through the air
in one clean,
       crisp, 
  cut.
I can’t help but smile into the biting air of twilight
I'm too fast for my problems to keep up.
So when I'm pulled over by an officer for going about 100 miles over the speed limit
my ancestors can smile knowing 
I just now thought about the fact that
We actually had to worry about this type of thing.

​