never comes

I done graduate Berkeley in three years couldnt wait to get free
Wit they piece of paper aint never think i be workin for free
If i dont make me some dough soon ima sho try an sell this degree

Cuz pinchin pennies an always bein broke aint what im about
Said pinchin pennies an payin wit quarters aint what im about
An i be damn if ima die dead po at home on my mama couch

White man hold job in his hand got me sayin please and thank you
Masta be turnin down all my beggin pleas wit no thank yous
Wit no green in my pocket Boss done gone an turnt this black man blue

When I think of euphemism I think of bombed out buildings in Baghdad, bloodied bodies on the street and George Bush calling it democracy, victory even.

I think of words like maimed wounded or injured as masks for the truth, the truth of arms, legs, eyes not missing, but taken, stolen by a roadside bomb, IDF bullet, or an American missile fully funded by my tax dollars.

Today I add graduation to that list. A word and moment I once looked forward to. As a black man I think about all the people of color shut out of educational institutions and blocked from ever graduating, being embarrassed by sign wielding friends, taking a million pictures in a funny hat or from ever hugging a teary-eyed mother so proud of her child she can barely contain her emotion on that long-awaited day.

Today that word turned victory into loss, a door opened into one slammed shut. I would much rather be told to get the fuck out or jay, you aren’t allowed to come to class anymore, but don’t dare call it graduation. Don’t take that word and make it something that burns the tongue with the enunciation of each syllable. There is no virtue in that, none whatsoever. I will not sit and watch joy wrung from that word. I will not be kicked out and told its for my best interest and definitely not under the rhetoric of graduation.