Nothin but Skittles

I know, I know, I know...
We just stopped talking about Trayvon Martin.
We just took a step toward moving on
by going a minute or two without thinking of him.

But I say, "Hey! It's about time somebody reminded us again."
Trayvon is a mother's Son. Trayvon is a father's Son.
Trayvon is lost.
Therefore, I remind you;
If "We Are Trayvon!" then surely,
We, too, are lost.

If I can shine a small light into the despair
of this darkness, let it be the light of empathy:

If it were your kid dead,
Clutching nothing but Skittles...
You wouldn't be done fighting for him.
If it were your child's chest blown open...
while Zimmerman took his gun home that night,
You'd not be done just yet.

You know it.  I know it.
Every parent who'll stop to check
their safe and sleeping child tonight - knows it.
Not one of us needs to know the others race to know this truth.

And so, I say,
"I am not done yet."
I am not ready to move on from Trayvon.
Because if he were my kid dead,
Clutching nothing but skittles...
I wouldn't ever be done fighting for him.
Not ever.