Death for No Damn Reason

Death for No Damn Reason

photo by Nathan Dumlao,

Death for No Damn Reason


When I saw white police taking a knee to protesters I almost let out an involuntary sob. At last, white people, us, were sick of White Supremacy too. Maybe sick of the soul-empty Trump voters and their vile shenanigans. We’ve had years of them now. Look at this woman’s face to understand. We’re in.


The protests are sweeping not only this country but also foreign shores. The deaths of George Floyd and Ahmaud Arbery are atrocities that didn’t need to happen. Willful murder of innocent men. Willful. Needless.


I find myself torn. I have marched around Boston Common more times than I can count. I should be dizzy. I remember once that I got out of synch with the crowd, walking in a clear spot, and I imaged FBI cameras clicking somewhere. Oh well, I’ve already done it. No tip-toeing backwards to cover.


Now Covid-19 is a coiled snake, ready to bite. It’s not a nice death. So although I want to throw my fist into the air and roar I’m sitting home and contemplating what it means to age.


Hooray for humanity. Hooray for conscience.

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