King Park
Another shooting on the south-east side
This a drive-by, mid-day
Outside of the bus stop
By Fuller and Franklin, or near there
Not far from the park
About a block from where
The other shooting was last month
Or was it last week?
Shots were fired from an SUV
Heading northbound, Eastown
The target, a rival
But they didn’t hit the target this time
They hit a kid we think
Had nothing to do with it
And I travel backwards
Through time and space, and
I disintegrate, become invisible
I want to see it
Where I couldn’t when it happened
I want to see it all
First hand this time
I want to know what it felt like
So I float behind police lines
Reconstruct the scene in fragments of memories
I want to know what his mother looked like up close
I want to see her leaning over his body
So I float there, transcend time
I want to capture it accurately
I want to know what the color of the blood was
Spilling out from the tarp onto the concrete
I want to write it all down
So I can always remember
If you could see it up close
How could you ever forget
How senseless death
How precious life
I want to be there
When the bullet hit
And the crowd poured out
As the shots drowned
Into siren sounds
Out of their houses now
And over front yards
All the way up to the place
Where the police tape ran
To mark the crime scene
Everybody trying to catch a glimpse
Of what was happening, of what was going on
Between the ambulance, and all the cop cars
Everybody gossiping, “Whose kid got hit?
Where’d it hit him, and who could’ve fired it?”
Everybody wondering, “How did it happen again?
And is he dead? These children, our kids”
Everybody wondering how far they were
From where the victims lived
And I visit them, their houses
Inside my dream I visit them
My spirit, soaring high and high
Up over King Park, leaves the crime scene
Travels further back, till far before the shooting
Through their windows, to their living rooms
I see them younger this time
Playing games and doing homework
All these marks of youth
Soon transformed coldly into stone
For fights and stupid feuds
For ruins wrapped in gold, and
Cruelly, I recall
Why I have come
To find a reason
But there cannot be a reason
Not for death, not like this
Not like this
Three days later, they made funeral plans
The family
Three days later, a mother
Had to bury her son
Not far away, the shooter
Holed up in a hotel
Near to the highway
With a friend and the gun
That same gun
He’d fled immediately
But was identified by witnesses
His picture on TV
Only 20 years old; they called him Grandpa
He was older than the others
By a year, maybe two, and
He was safe for awhile
Until somebody saw him there
And notified the authorities
Who surrounded the hotel
First arresting an accomplice
While attempting to flee
Then chasing him up the staircase
To the floor where he’d stayed
He closed the door hard behind him
Locked himself in the room
They could’ve kicked in the door
But knew the gun was still with him
One he’d already used
And so they feared what he’d do
I floated up through the window
Of a room to the west
I hovered out to the hallway
Tried to listen in
I heard them trying to reason
Get him to open the door
His uncle begging and pleading
Half-collapsed to the floor
He preached of hope and forgiveness
Said, “There is always a chance
To rectify what you’ve taken
Make your peace in the world”
I thought to slip through the door
I could’ve entered the room
I felt the burden of murder
It shook the earth to the core
Felt like the world was collapsing
Then we heard him speak
“Can I still get into heaven if I kill myself?
Can I still get into heaven if I kill myself?
Can I ever be forgiven cause I killed that kid?
It was an accident, I swear it wasn’t meant for him!