Crystal’s Children

Those were the days of chicken headed homeboys
Strutting clucking scratching for gak,
Scraping together enough cash to split a teener between them
Fighting for the attention of platinum pleated hood rats,
Sporting homemade tats crashing hotel parties
Killing fifths of Bacardi, stealing and selling
Forgotten twenty-twos found in shoe
Boxes found in the backs of grandparent’s closets,
Selling smoke from Cadillac trunks
And some grew thinner some grew to understand
Most grew apart.

And these are the days when the world barely pauses
As a six-year old boy pulls out lighter spoon and needle
Demonstrating how he gives his mother daily insulin shots
And shows more than he ever meant to tell.