LOOK—
The bullet was not meant
for the boy. It was reflex,
retaliation, a warning
of the bad things
a man might do, can do,
will do if you make him
angry enough. The bullet
was meant for the boy’s mom—
for being a bad driver, a bad
woman, one who needs
to learn some respect.
Think of the birds
she could have shot with
his kind of ammunition.
But the man missed the mark,
as people full of rage often do.
See the bird on the ground,
slowly picked apart by teeth,
see the flocks gutted and
stuffed for cabin walls,
where they look in flight.
See all the boys whose tummy
hurts, see the moms whose fisted
shirt cannot stop the bleeding.
See all the moms whose tummy
is not bleeding but hurting,
not hurting but empty, not empty
but empty not empty but empty.
Like the shell of a bird
once feathered, once flying
now hollowed with nothing
left but an unseeing socket
in the middle of the street.
—from Poets Respond
May 30, 2021
__________
Marissa Glover: “I can’t stop thinking about Aiden Leos. About his last words, about his mom, about simply driving to school and all the (seemingly insignificant) decisions made along the way. So much of this world makes no sense to me—and this poem kind of has that feeling of senselessness, talking in circles, living in circles, with each character always ending up in the same sad spot. It shouldn’t be this way.” (web)
