THE MURDER OF RENEE GOOD

They say that she was nice.
Which no one labels ICE,
Whose agent stood in place
And shot her in the face
Not once, not twice, but thrice.

Look at the video—
Where did she aim to go?
Sitting behind the wheel—
What was she left to feel?
The world will never know.

“Domestic terrorist”?
Poet, mom, motorist
Making a kind of stand
That just got out of hand?
They say she will be missed

And that she loved to sing
But who is listening
To whatever remains
In the air of her strains
“Bullshit” is covering?

When you hear her screaming
As the men are teaming,
Ask what the sane can do
To stop this masked-up crew
And more tears from streaming.