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Who Knew?

PINK, PINK PINK...sounds of the

bullets array on the dresser

Shhhhhhh….”he better get on his knees

alone”

but not voicin’ words, pray in his dome
worry now a stench he wears like cologne

So he let it seep deep, deep down

no registration for the gun passed down

through stitched lips as if from lost and

found

hands clasp

white rage

permeating the veins of his deep, deep

brown

Skin that he learned after years to love

skin that he had to defend when push

came to shove