We buried him in the street

Big, little ol’ me on my hip 

and Jesus

Two maybe, three

I have seen more than a mailbox be used as a weapon

Beat, beat

Be quiet

The sirens came from the corner store

Blow Pops, charmed

Good and bad cops, harmed

Sharpening pop 

Sickle sticks 

Her curly hair

Her scared face there by the peach boarded unit

Dwelling place, less than a home

Beat, beat

Sticky tar

Eggs and ketchup on the stoop

Fork and plate

This is not easy

Unburden me

Every mourning, but kind

Love finds you standing 

Still frozen in the heat

Chubby strapped sandaled feet

Beat, beat

Beat, beat

I poke the head yoke with a twig 

Motorcycle sounds

Glen showed up, gentle streaming

and drove me home

With The Cars

Plug your ears, spinning gears

Tiny matchbox wheels

A distraction from extraction of white matter

On black sticks

Lifeless brown, twitch limping

Stopped

Limbs

Catch up 

Beat, beat

Kicked his feet and fought

Tried to say 

Stop

Silence came 

Roller Kingdom come

We did not cry out

No one to yell to

Tell to

Three

Beat, beat

In

One down, a cross

Word

Our Father

Hallowed be your nameless name

We buried him in the street

Complete

4 thoughts on “Beat

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