Sevenling (The officer pointed)

The officer pointed the profile gun
at me: male,
white, mid-forties.

The officer pointed the profile gun
at him: male,
Latino, early twenties.

The flashing red lights are not for me.

* * * * *

This poem was written in response to the profile prompt at Poetic Asides. I wrote it yesterday, and today revised it, using the sevenling form, which I first saw at Scrambled, Not Fried. Thanks, Ron.

9 thoughts on “Sevenling (The officer pointed)

  1. Mike, I agree. This poem is just a scratch. We could talk on this for hours.

    Ron, I’ll keep stopping by to see what you’ve fried up. And thanks for introducing me to the sevenling.

    Linda, thank you.

    Pamela, thanks. I can see me writing more sevenlings.


  2. Teach, gotta tell you, this is so up my alley. It’s true, every word. Racial profiling in all its manifestations… I get discouraged when I hear Anglos in Arizona, for example, say, “Hey, I’m all for it. I didn’t do anything wrong.” I wish for all “white” (read: really, really light brown!) Americans to spend time (like I did) in a place where you are stared at oddly simply because of the color of their skin. Maybe then we’d start getting somewhere.


  3. Amy, thanks as always for your thoughtful comments. I agree. If we could get people to have those experiences and develop a different perspective, then we might start getting somewhere.

    Tilly, thank you. I’m grateful for the sevenling form, which is new to me. The first draft was much longer, and this version of it works so much better.


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