A Life That Didn’t Matter
My baby was sweet and smart
Striving to balance out his boorish brute of a father
He was on his way home from baseball practice
Cornrows heavy with the cold rain,
Body heavy with stress and
Bag loaded overstuffed gear he carried himself
I was putting in overtime trying to get my promotion
And for what
I wanted to be head of marketing and meanwhile
He just wanted to get home
He just wanted to get home when he was shot
For running from the men with guns
But he was thirteen and wasn’t wearing his glasses
How was he to know they were cops
When they stole his life
His anxiety must have been running out of control
That disorder that made him suffer so much
That I couldn’t afford the good medication for anymore
I had him on the one that didn’t work as well
And he was managing because he was so brave
While I was pushing to make sure ends always met
And for what
All for my boy, just thirteen years old
And he had to get shot because I was the only one
Who cared and I wasn’t there
A poem of grief. Thanks for reading.
…BRD…
