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.