Wednesday, March 23, 2011

Soon

She clutches his head to her chest
Where it will rest
Never to rise again
And she calls the name of his friends
Who where there when he drank his first beer
And the first time he got high
But no one will answer why
His time had come
With the shot of a gun
They will all dress in black
Bid him farewell and turn their backs
And two hours
Two days
Two months
Too soon
A mother clears out her dead son’s room


© Ix-Chel Poot

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