 Dead of Night the execution of by Nambi E. Kelly making love to me was the equivalent of what phone sex I'm gonna give this motherfucker a piece of my mind Can I get to the door act? I say in my head play the game? He answers the door and I am as pleasant as possible Smiling from ear to ear. Oh, I got him fooled Gonna hit him with so many how dare he? He makes me spaghetti in a frying pan mixed with garlic and butter We are peaceful. I Eat it happily Maybe I won't have to cuss them out today after all Maybe we can be calm and civil and dare I say loving I Ask him can we talk? He wants to avoid I Push he resists we start to talk More like scream. He slaps me I reel dazed he kicks me again. I reel this time fighting in my mind to stay the fuck calm I'm not going to let his ugly win Then he says it bitch bitch bitch bitch bitch I Switch his ugliness becomes me slugs me so I can barely breathe me because I'm too busy fighting him biting him for my Dignity through the front door. He pushes me onto Addison Street. We spill good old white boy Wrigleyville Still he slaps me kicks bitch And no one steps in no one stops this white man my white man My white boyfriend son of a bastard man from slapping a kicking bitch calling little black me flashing lights sirens call yes Popo 5 Oh just from down on Halstead Street. Yes, the cops are here. I will be rescued saved What's the problem sir? sir My raving lunatic white boyfriend becomes suddenly cool. Well officer. I'm bloody blah blah blah blah blah blah But blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera, blah, blah. But not me. I wasn't in the club. Not me. Officer Whitey never once asked little black me what was the problem, ma'am. For my white man's word, Officer Whitey and his cronies swooped down on me like white on rice, me being the rice. My breathing comes shallow, quick, from the weight of these six white cops. Quick, I keep screaming, I can't breathe, I can't breathe. I can't breathe. A cop crony shouts back, if you can't breathe, then how can you talk? I panic even more, so much so that even my white man boyfriend tells Beggs, please, with the cops, please, sir. She has panic attacks, problems with an irregular heart. Please tell your officer to get off of her. She's only 115 pounds, sir, please. But even his pleas fall on silent ears. The visual of this angry black woman on this must be innocent white man takes over. Cuffs cuff wrists that are now tired and limp from distress. They take my 115 pound cuffed black ass and throw me in the back of the squad car, cart me off to holding down on Halstead Street, where I am surrounded by more cop cronies. You sure are a cute little thing, they say. I can't believe you hit a cop, bit a cop, they say. You're just too damn cute, they say. I get scared. Anything can happen. They could beat me, rape me, kill me. I choose my words carefully. But officer, I say, through whispered tears. I didn't do anything. They sat on top of me. Six cops sat on top of me. I couldn't breathe.