Wednesday, August 4, 2010

Potential Punk

Potential Punk

He's six.

Round-faced and brown
Like a native
Of the rainforest, he

Comes stomping through my front yard
Two feet from my house
With his white wifebeater on

Just to be
Confident and

He spits on my lawn
When I come out my front door
And just keeps going

And I'm afraid of him

As he crosses the invisible line
Traverses into
The yard next door

I tell him
In case he's
There with his ears on

That he's ending up aggressive
Got an angry attitude

Oughtta calm the fuck down
Doesn't need to challenge

Not me

All up in my territory
He'll end up being hurtful
He's IS hurtful


I believe he thinks
In his
Six-year-old way

"I'm not hurting anyone, just
Maintaining my stride, my
Little power

Against life's obstacles, blazing
My trail through to
Surety and safety

Choosing my defensive moves"

But you'll end up suffering
Fighting for safety
Every day

In a gang, I'm thinking, in prison
No choice of any kind
No safety, no surety

Your attitude
Will give everybody else
The same attitude

It doesn't matter
Who threw the very first punch
In your life

You're throwing the first one now

With your downcast eyes
And your frown and your little fists
All up in everybody's space

You're throwing punches

Involuntarily, maybe, but threatening
When you could be strolling slowly
In the street

Or you'll get stuck

That way

A strong guy
Calm. He

Doesn't have
To prove


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

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