He died in Minneapolis on an ordinary day,
A day we’ll all remember.
We can't turn away. It was a day
Like this one, a Monday, in Spring.
Yes, it was a Monday like today
When this poem arrived
With a knee on its neck
Unable to breathe.
George Floyd is dead. They choked him
Although he never did anything to them.
They choked him hard with a knee and hard
Also with the years. The witnesses
Are the Mondays and the knees,
The solitude, the sky, the road
And the four hundred years.
After César Vallejo