Dirty Hands
his back pinned against
a white chipped garage
knees pressed to his hairless chest
trying to make himself small and invisible
cracked pavement weaves through the dark alley
the only light from the crescent moon
wind slapping his bare scalp
his breath, quick and irregular
nails digging into palms
eyes full of tears watching
dark blood runs close to his muddy shoes
another brother gone
large heavy footsteps circulate the
limp body on the ground
monstrous hands steadily grip the gun
his own hands, tiny, trembling
sinister laughter fills his adolescent ears
a life taken in front of his eyes
all because of respect
I thought we were brothers
does this mean he will turn on me too?
gunshot still ringing through his ears
legs quivering
shaking his head trying to understand
Is this what brothers do?
filth built under nails
protruding veins trying to escape
concrete skin
are dirty hands all we have?
sweat dripping on his brow
shoulders slumped over
inspecting his own young fists
I thought we were brothers
I thought we were brothers