| Muffled sound of fist on flesh
|
| Blows to chest
|
| No breath
|
| Air gasps
|
| You ain’t nothing but white trash, bitch!
|
| With each hit, each kick, each… broken rib
|
| Crack, Crack!
|
| Bones are crying
|
| Mommy’s crying and bleeding
|
| And pleading
|
| And then…
|
| Daddy wants to fuck
|
| Dick hard, swelled with power rush
|
| And as if all that wasn’t enough
|
| Mommy’s seven months heavy with birth
|
| As… Daddy grunts and cursed drunk nothings in her bloodied ear
|
| (singing softly)
|
| First… lullaby
|
| First… Son…will…ever…hear
|
| And never forget
|
| Mommy almost bled to death when she have him… finally
|
| She’d already lost… three
|
| Uterus-bruised, shredded, and weak
|
| From being daily beat
|
| And Friday nights were the worst and…
|
| Daddy never came with flowers
|
| Instead he spent hours at some corner spot
|
| With some bar pop named Cookie
|
| Putting his thing down
|
| Soiling Mommy’s sheets with…
|
| Sweet… talk shit
|
| Cookie’s cheap lipstick
|
| Hair grease, sperm, and jezebel juice
|
| To hell with the good news that…
|
| He was a father for the first time
|
| His thirst for wine and women
|
| Clouded his vision…
|
| No warm welcome for mother and son
|
| Just…
|
| The rank smell of ass-crack, funk, and cum
|
| But Mommy’s prayerful strength-her best defense
|
| She… burned the dirty linens
|
| Made a fresh bed
|
| Laid sleeping First Son down
|
| And never made a sound
|
| As she purged her scourge
|
| With birth-blood and quiet tears
|
| Watching as her fears and love and sacrifice
|
| Lie there in his soft skin and new life
|
| Breathing, dreaming, fresh from God’s eye
|
| Mommy’s little survivor
|
| Like… her
|
| Mommy called crazy and scorned
|
| 'Cuz she two more born
|
| One boy soon after
|
| The girl much later and…
|
| Although they were both sung the same lullabies of hate
|
| Her… First Son, the first one
|
| Whose… womb-world was profaned
|
| Came of age playing street games
|
| With Stewie, Rezzie, and Little Brother
|
| 'Till his heart start to wither
|
| In pain and shame
|
| Blamed Mom for the wrong she let Daddy do to her
|
| And him…
|
| Let… sins of the Father cause his Innocence to wander
|
| Found honor amongst thieves
|
| Chose to squander his dreams
|
| Stopped believing in himself
|
| Become prodigal with his life
|
| Make impossible shit right with…
|
| Gang-ties, crime, lies
|
| Erase wise, woeful words of Mother
|
| Replaced them with absurdities of others
|
| Who had also lost their way
|
| Played a different kind of street game now
|
| First Son plunged deep
|
| Speak street-family vows
|
| Espouse no causes but his own
|
| See, he couldn’t protect Mommy’s neck from Daddy’s grasp
|
| Or… protect Mommy’s ass from Daddy’s wrath
|
| Couldn’t shield her ears from…
|
| Daddy’s foul-mouthed, liquor-breath jeers
|
| His only defense-served be confidence
|
| Brown bottles housed his swift descent
|
| Phones called cops on block frequent for his shenanigans
|
| Now… Daddy and him twins in addiction
|
| Driven to false-hearted heavens and friends
|
| By liquefied demons
|
| Had become what he despised from Conception 'til End
|
| Destined for a demise
|
| Survived nine lives of staying high
|
| Conning, jewelry-pawning, arrests, theft
|
| Womanizing… only for money, never for sex
|
| Bullet in chest, baseball bat to the head
|
| Left for dead
|
| So, eyes wide and glassy
|
| Speech… slowed and slurred
|
| Lips twitched with caked-up codeine candy
|
| And mouth corners one December 24th
|
| Mr. Hide and False Friend
|
| Took final ride to suburban supplier
|
| Shots were fired by the gray man
|
| With shaky hand
|
| But not shaky enough to miss…
|
| Hit… Lost Boy in back
|
| So-called Friend runs for door
|
| Leaves First Son blood-born
|
| Lying alone in blood on cold floor
|
| Death was the cost of…
|
| Returning to Innocence Lost…
|
| Baby 'Sis awake for dawn on Christmas morn
|
| To Mommy’s sobs and shakes
|
| Daddy’s silhouettes of regret
|
| All past, omitted, and absolved by lost
|
| As they clung to each other
|
| Knowing… |