flowers from prayer

Omer Ahmed

Someone I love tells me disaster derives from lack of prayer.
The next day, when an officer pulls me over,
I put their wisdom to practice. 

I pray his violence turns into something peaceful,
Like flowers.
His violence asks me if I have a weapon in my car
And smells deceit when I say “no”
Smells deceit, like it’s coming off my skin.
Or maybe my hair. 

He asks for license and insurance.
And I comply.
I open my wallet to see my ID is printed on a gun, 
Wondering why I’ve never noticed this before,
I reach over to my glove box
And see that my insurance is printed on a bronze-forged battle-axe.
I’d be sweating bullets,
But I’m too frightened of him finding them on me. 

“I can’t find them” 
I lie to the officer.
He tells me to step out of the vehicle and I do.
I keep my hands behind my head,
Because what part of a black boy isn’t a weapon.
He tells me to turn around and lay on the hood. 

I hesitate, and that's all it takes.
Officer “never told me his name” 
Pulls out his gun and repeats himself.
LAY. ON. THE. HOOD. BOY.
I follow instructions, but
When he sees that my back is a World War One issue M198 howitzer cannon,
The officer fires 9 shots at me in self-defense. 

. . . And 9 flowers bounce gently off my back

Cheers of hallelujah ring out from the church choir,
Singing on the side of the highway 
Confused, the officer charges at me with his baton

And it turns into a bundle of roses.

Enraged he tackles and starts beating me with the bouquet. 

When he tries to cut my neck with its thorns
The sun falls from the sky and it begins to rain,

Each thorn turns into a sunflower. 

My best friend is beat-boxing with the choir.
The church choir wet wearing all white,
Starts twerking to “Jesus loves me this I know”

The officer’s fist turns into 1000 dandelions 

And he shoves them all down my throat.
Each flower contains his wishes 

And he prays that each flower kills me 

I wonder whose prayers get accepted first.
I think about all the miracles he's wasting trying to kill me.
I pray that he stops trying to kill me

And God groups a message in the sky, 
The clouds read “all prayers matter.”

 The officer kicks at my face

 And instead he turns into an acorn, and I choke.

I don’t know which is more overdone,
Me dying to the police officer,
Or the church choir singing “Ave Maria” as I pass.

God makes me into a tree,

And snickers.