The bullets riddle his body
They enter his back and exit his front
They don’t stop there
They shred their way through the paper bag he grasps
oh so tightly in his arms
Their entrance causes the half gallon of milk to
explode in many directions
The baby formula follows the bullets
Like the dust that follows comets in the evening sky
Each flake is speckled with the little red droplets of his crimson blood
His arms can no longer keep its grasp on the blood and milk soaked bag
It falls from his brown and red and white hands
It takes a second for him to grasp what has just
happened to him
He looks down at his trembling hands
Little droplets roll down the back of his hand and make their way top the earth
He pulls his t-shirt away from his skin
It’s wet
The shock begins to set
He has been shot in front of his mother’s house
Tears build in the corners of his eyes as his body
makes its way to his knees then over to his side
He tries to call out for his momma but the only sound
the can be heard is the sound of him gargling on his blood
His breathing gets faster and shorter
He tries to crawl through the pool of blood milk and
baby cereal
He isn’t getting far
He calls out “momma!”
His mother rips open the door to see her baby lying in a pool of his o+ blood
She doesn’t care that she is still in her night clothes
She hurls herself down the stairs of her home
Her knees land in her son’s blood
She cradles his head in her lap
He mumbles “I don’t want to die”
She tells him to hush but she can’t even contain her own emotions
The neighbors come out of their hiding places and stare with stupidity
Someone must have called 911
Sirens can be heard in the distance
They are too late
He is dead and the only thing his mother can say is
“Oh my god they done killed my baby”
A fraise heard in every ghetto
Only in America
