Though I offer no sympathy for the killer
He is dead, too.
I wonder, in his former life what they fed him to make him so husky.
They probably spooned to him that the best kind of ‘Nigger’ is a dead one.
The only kind of ‘Nigger’ is a high one
A lying one
A ‘person of interest’
They gave him no concept of smiling boys that we nursed,
we changed, we fed, we watched play in first games, go on 1st dates,
boys who were invited inside our gates.
(he probably didn’t know we had nursed his father, either)
He only knew that you gotta be lickety lightning spit quick to get one
(because, as he was told, “they always get away”)
He was only securing the premises
lest the sugar-addict-boy
bomb yards with high fructose rainbows
and showers of the finest iced tea
He was only protecting his own upbringing
Only practicing for his police exam
He was only following, lurking, lusting, pursuing, protecting.
He was only part and parcel to the plan.
A pre-meditator, a good student of his instructors
I wonder what his prize was for making it home that night.
For being a star pupil
For ridding the world of one dark spot
We know what the other guy got.