by E. Ethelbert Miller¹

    I'm in the school bathroom

    washing my hands without

    soap but I'm still washing my hands.

    I turn the water off

    and look for a paper towel

    but paper towels have been gone

    since the first day of school

    and it's June now.

    I start to leave the bathroom

    with my wet hands but then

    the big boys come in talking

    loud and cussing like they

    rap² stars or have new sneakers.

    I hear the one named Pinto

    talking about how someone

    should get Omar after school

    since he's the only Muslim they know.

    Pinto talks with an accent

    like he's new in the neighborhood too.

    I don't have to ask him

    what he's talking about

    since everybody is talking

    about the Towers and how they

    ain't there no more.

    My momma said it's like a woman losing both

    breasts to cancer and my daddy

    was talking at the dinner table

    about how senseless violence is

    and Mrs. Gardner next door lost

    two tall boys to drive-bys

    Bullets flying into both boys heads

    making them crumble³ too.

    Everybody around here is

    filled with fear and craziness

    and now Pinto and the big boys

    thinking about doing something bad.

    I stare at my wet hands

    dripping water on my shoes

    and wonder if I should run

    and tell Omar or just run.

    I feel like I'm trapped

    in the middle of one of those

    Bible stories but it ain't Sunday.

    I hear my Momma's voice saying

    Boy， always remember to wash

    your hands but always remember

    you can't wash your hands from everything.

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