Drennen

He was four and wild and screamed “shut up” in a nine-year-old’s ear so she got mad and sassed him back and he got mad and pulled her hair and then his mom stepped in. She licked him good purple and blue and purple and blue. These kids ain’t raised. They drug up from their baby days ‘til they on their own. Learn to spit and cuss and fight, their knuckles overused by the time they seven. Bled away their hearts by the time they eight. Shot up their block by the time they eleven. Bam bam. Two holes in the wall. You look through, you see black. You see it’s dark. You can’t see nothing. Ain’t nothing to see. There no one there. There no one there. Drennen died. His fist found Mom. Her words “hell no, ain’t no one gone hit me.” Not no more. Drennen’s gone.