Overheard on a bus:
TEENAGER 1: It’s all very well for people to say
don’t carry a knife or a gun, but what do they know, yeah? It’s dead cool, right? Besides, you gotta protect yourself. F**k the do-gooders. What kind of world do they think we live in? You
gotta get real, yeah?
TEENAGER 2: What if someone gets hurt, killed
even?
TEENAGER 1: So it ain’t gonna be me, right?
TEENAGER 2: I dunno…
TEENAGER 1:
(Rising to leave as bus stops) You dunno know f**k all.
An elderly lady sitting next to me shook her head, "He’s right about one thing. What do we know about the world they live in? And
whose fault is that, I wonder...?"
I said nothing. What could I say?
There is nothing either cool or macho about carrying a knife or a gun even if (potentially) in self-defence, and who's going to care anyways if you end up dead?
This poem is a villanelle.
DEAD COOL, MACHO MAN
Finally,
managed to get me a gun
and
spreading the word,
didn’t
ask who’ll carry my coffin
At first, life was a buzz, good fun,
but all that disappeared;
finally, managed to get me a gun,
Needed to prove I was someone,
get me some street cred;
didn’t ask who’ll carry my coffin
Shouting
at just about everyone,
but
no one ever heard;
finally,
managed to get me a gun,
Joined a gang, mustn't let 'em down,
show I was shit scared;
didn’t
ask who’ll carry my coffin
Got into a street fight, shot down
dripping
with blood...
Finally,
managed to get me a gun,
didn’t
ask who’ll carry my coffin
Copyright R. N.
Taber 2010; 2015
Labels: crime, death, education, fear, gangs, gun, human, knife, life, mind-body-spirit, nature, peer, people, poetry, pressure, responsibility, society, street, vulnerability, young
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