Looking for Omar

by E. Ethelbert Miller
     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
     rap 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 crumble 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.