Satis-Fackshunnn Poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar

From me you don't get...
Any kind of satis-fackshunnn.
To believe you can get,
Easily from me...
A releasing of a heated,
Re-ackshunnn.
No.

When I walk upon any street.
From nowhere...
The police pull up profiling me.
And no matter how old I am.
Slowly they will look at me,
As if to provoke...
Another black man to claim,
A pusher of dope.

From me they ain't 'gettin' no,
No no no.
Any kind of satis-fackshunnn.
Oh no no.
To believe it they will get from me,
A reason to inflict their ackshunnn.
No!

They are not patrolling the suburbs.
Where corrupted criminals live.
Thriving on crimes to commit.
To insist...
Urbanites in the cities,
Are doing it.

From me they ain't 'gettin no'.
Oh. No. No.
Any kind of satis-fackshunnn.
No.
I...
Am a man first to know I'm black.
And not intimidated,
To reply...
In an ignorant re-ackshunnn.

"And...
How are you?
Proud black man! "

I'm feeling and doing great.
And noticing how slowly,
You appreciate it.

"And...
What are you trying to imply?

An observation you can not deny.
But...
I am not that one,
To do to others what you have done.
Too many police I've known since childhood.
Making attempts to arrest,
And address their rising developments.

"Meaning what? "