PLIGHT OF THE BLACK SEED

The black seed grew rich fruits. Colorful fruits, like mixed children, bloomed;

groomed by the teaching of college, influenced by the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.

Would they believe him—one black hand raised inside a soundless courtroom.

Coffee-colored palm forward. “I swear to tell the truth.”

Before they cut him down, let him speak a prayer, eyes closed, where he remembered that chopped trees were still useful.

Black seeds, though once youthful, ripened into old, bitter fruit.

Like a bag of Doritos emptied over kids playing duck-duck-goose—every one of them tagged with a chip on his shoulder.