A poem I like: Airsoft by A. Van Jordan:

And toy guns masquerade as lethal guns
in a boy’s dreamland where no one dies,

where they simply lie down and play dead,
but they live to play on.
As mysterious as a cat in a box,

a toy gun in a Black boy’s pocket,
the gun neither dead nor alive,
unless offered a chance to empty

his pocket to solve the paradox
of what a day might hold.

had a hard time narrowing down the excerpt, sorry if it “ruins” “the end”