Wednesday, July 23, 2014

Family Heirloom

Hate is a language I have
never been very fluent in.
Even back then when I was
just the alien faced kid shackled
to the stoop with a fresh deck of
Pokemon cards handy.
If you were there you would’ve
seen how second nature it was
for neighborhood kids to
black eyes and laugh about it.
How frequently their mothers were at work
while their fathers were on work release.
How regularly bikes were stolen,
cars were broken into, drugs were sold,
and cops were no where to be found.
I was the monkey in the middle of it all, but somehow
made it out without even a misdemeanor.
My brothers can’t say the same.
Our parents were there every step of the way
making sure we didn’t retrace their footsteps.
Unfortunately for them, some things are just hereditary.


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