Dear Starbucks Barista, Ten Years Later

Dontre Hamilton was killed by a Milwaukee Police Officer on April 30, 2014, in Red Arrow Park, Milwaukee, Wisconsin. The park is in the center of downtown, across the street from City Hall. It was in the afternoon. A Starbucks employee called the Milwaukee Police Department twice to complain about him sleeping near the park’s arrow sculpture.

Both times officers came to check on him, and after talking to Dontre Hamilton, left him alone and told the Starbucks staff that he was doing nothing wrong, and they should stop calling. But the same Starbucks employee who called the first two times decided to call the cell phone of yet another Milwaukee Police Officer.

That officer came to the park, rousted Mr. Hamilton and an altercation ensued. Panicked, the officer shot Dontre Hamilton more than a dozen times, resulting in Mr. Hamilton’s death at the park. The officer, Christopher Manney, was later fired by the Police Department for a failure to follow correct procedure although he was never charged with a crime.

I wrote this poem, which was published in Cries for Justice, Poems for Dontre Hamilton. That was ten years ago. Now, I am thinking about grace. And whether the young barista should have been shown grace by me and others. We were so quick to be angry at a young woman who didn’t kill anyone. A police officer did the shooting. Both acted out of fear and ignorance. And so, is that forgivable? I guess it has to be. I wonder if she’s forgiven herself. I wonder if she felt she needed to. There’s no way of knowing.

Dear Starbucks Barista           

You called not once
but over and over, ring after ring
until the answer you wanted came to the park
to roust the sleeping man who scared you so

You needed the sleeping man to go away
be gone, be somewhere else, leave the grass empty
so he went away, covered in a sheet and many mistakes
leaving yellow tape strung from tree to tree

If I was your mother
I’d comfort you, an error anyone could make
I’d defend you, build a soft wall of whitewashed blame
lead you to recovery, celebrate Christmas and New Year’s

If I was your mother
I’d remember putting the fear in your bones
crossing the street just to be sure, holding your hand tighter
never speak to strangers, obey the rule, enforce it

If I was your mother
I’d want to shake the hand of the murdered man’s mother
cross the street to join the demonstration, carry a sign
pretend I am blameless, become part of the crowd, a blur