He died on the street outside my door
Clutching his chest falling down slow
Screaming for help no assistance we gave
Left him dying, writhing in pain
Hardened by street crime we assumed a scam
A gang to come running when we stepped outside
Little boys with no respect for elder or wiser
Did they cause? Did we cause? The life we have to live.
The boy, fourteen years and 3 months
Post mortem revealed a heart broken
By the fear of strangers who lock themselves in
And don’t engage humanely with any ‘cept kin
The pain of the mother screened close up
despairing of the lack of help.
I recognised her grief stricken face
as the lady from the corner shop
We should’ve known him
twenty years or more ago we would have
chatted with him daily watching him grow up
we ignore the young, and we do so at our peril.