Ghetto Circus

[Poem]
The circus used to be a flash of vivid colors and playful music
2 minutes on a tv screen and an eager “Daddy, can we go?”
But Daddy never liked the circus
Each time the commercials came on her bright face was met with a
“I’m not a big fan of these things, but maybe your mom will take you”
Her wide eyes were met with his grin, and her fragile frame met with an embrace
But she could never understand why his eyes never met the wonder on the screen

Surely he had been mesmerized by those majestic elephants before
She was 12 years old when she was introduced to Tyke
Her 3rd period teacher would start off every new lesson with a documentary
So, feet up on the desk, she fixed her eyes on this majestic creature
As Tyke was moved from concrete room to concrete room
She witnessed her two attempts to escape abuse reap nothing but more beatings
And she watched too familiarly the anger that contoured Tyke’s face
And the confusion that rested on the gleam in her eyes
The anticipation built in those 90 minutes
And all for Tyke the elephant to finally free herself
From the clutches of the vivid colors and playful music
And be met by 87 bullets and a slow death
As if the trauma of these events wasn’t diffusing through the classroom

The teacher said with an indifferent tone
“Now class, Tyke was a threat to the public
What could have been done to prevent this?”
So she crossed her arms and sat back in her seat
Unable to contain the steam rising from her boiling blood, she fidgeted
No longer able to keep handle of it, her hand shot up
Without waiting for her name to be called out, her mouth spewed the words

“Tell me what it’s like to be one of those animal trainers.”
The teacher held her breath as blades were inserted one by one into her routine teacher act
“What is it like to train this “ghetto circus”?
You issued us these uniform shirts
These yellow tags that you forced through our lobes
Because the gold and silver in our ears by choice doesn’t identify us as yours
You decorate your websites with our range of vivid colors
“Come one, come all, feel the magic up close”, you yell to the spectating administrators
When all I feel up close is the bullhook in my side, in the back of my mind
That last period my trainer told us we could never be president or doctors or lawyers
That I should think of something more practical

So why would I listen to the old white lady at the front of the ring
When Tyke is telling me I can
Be what I wanna be
If I work hard at it
Look I’d much rather listen to a vet of my kind
One who escaped this circus, maybe even met by bullets
Than take what you have to offer

Tyke, Pac, Biggie, Nas, they nourish me, give me the strength
So that maybe it’ll take more than 80 bullets for my head to sway
For my legs to buckle, for my heart to give way
Once I escape this hell they call school
Now I understand why Daddy’s eyes never met the gaze of the circus elephants
Because as I watch in the girls’ bathroom as faces are majestically contoured with anger
And confusion sets in on the gleam in their eyes, I wanna look away too
You break our spirits then have the nerve to call us “a threat to the public”?
Tyke is a hero to the rest of us adorned with your vibrant standard-issued khakis
Herded from concrete room to concrete room
Because she knows what it’s like to be abused in the circus, cycled through the system—”

Before she could finish, the teacher wrote her name on a bright yellow slip for the principal’s office
The yellow sheet met her tense hand, her heavy feet met the concrete floor
Teacher’s wide eyes met her grin, she bore her tusks and said
“Sometimes you can learn much more from the elephant in the room
Than from those who try to tame it”