Call the Mortician

By Nala Washington

It's as if they believe black bodies fit better in caskets 

Call this my call back 

Casket made dressing room 

Death becoming glamorous 

In a closet full of hashtags soon to forget my name 

Lights, Camera, Guns, blazing 

Mama look, your baby girl got her own movie  

Now mistaken as justification 

They love how these bullet holes fit my body, someone call the mortician, 

I mean make-up artist 

They said they enjoyed my head shot 

Posing and voguing, alternating 

You know, I always wanted to be six feet 

Call this 

"Another black life lost due to America's hatred" 

I can hear my mother get emotional already 

She actually might cry during this 

I'm a star 

I wonder 

Will the sequel to my film be my father?