He was four and wild and
screamed “shut up” in a
nine-year-old’s ear so she
got mad and sassed him
back and he got mad and
pulled her hair and then
his mom stepped in.
She licked him good
purple and blue and
purple and blue.
These kids ain’t raised.
They drug up
from their baby days
‘til they on their own.
Learn to spit and cuss
and fight,
their knuckles overused
by the time they seven.
Bled away their
hearts by the time
they eight.
Shot up their
block by the
time they eleven.
Bam bam.
Two holes in the wall.
You look through,
you see black.
You see it’s dark.
You can’t see nothing.
Ain’t nothing to see.
There no one there.
There no one there.
Drennen died.
His fist found Mom.
Her words “hell no,
ain’t no one gone hit me.”
Not no more.
Drennen’s gone.