Broken Ghazal for Walter Scott

A video looping like a dirge on repeat, my soul--a psalm of bullets in my back.
I see you running then drop heavy hunted like prey with eight shots in the back.

Again, in my Facebook feed another black man dead, another fist in my throat.
You: prostrate on the green grass with handcuffed hands on your bleeding back.

Praises for the video, to the witness & his recording thumb, praises to YouTube 
for taking the blindfold off Lady Justice, dipping her scales down with old weight

of strange fruit, to American eyeballs blinking & chewing the 24-hour news cycle: 
another black body, another white cop. But let us go back to the broken tail light,

let's find a man behind on his child support, let's become his children, let's call 
him Papa. Let us chant Papa don't run! Stay, stay back! Stay here with us. But Tiana--

you have got to stop watching this video. Walter is gone & he is not your daddy, 
another story will come to your feed, stay back. But whisper--stay, once more,

with the denied breath of his absent CPR, praise his mother strumming Santana 
with tiny hallelujahs up & down the harp of his back. Praise his mother holding

the man who made her son a viral hit, a rerun to watch him die ad infinitum, again 
we go back, click replay at any moment. A video looping like a dirge on repeat--