Innocence --- a poem

Even love was scarce, appearing only sometimes

times when light bulbs and soda cans were mangled into make shift pipes

when eyes were red and nights were long

This love came only when mom was happy and high

But withdrawal would creep in and steal the food,

his shoes,

his backpack,

his video games, toys, basketball cards

and anything else that could be sold

Addiction brought new faces to his home throughout the night

banging on the doors introduced 9mm hand guns,

gold-toothed thugs,

dirty money,

burnt fingertips,

weary arms full of tracks,

and women who had nothing left to sell -- but themselves

His innocence tainted, as he peered at the nightly routine,

flames stemming from fingertips held up to lips,

dreams evaporating into the chilled air of day two without heat,

black guns placed on his kitchen table,

stacks of filthy cash bundled and set out for admiration,

plastic-wrapped off-white rocks, gleaming like diamonds, teasing and tempting

curse words streaming steadily out of ignorant mouths and continuing up to meet his

young ears,

at the top of the stairs,

where he hid –

crouched.

Strangers with nightmarish faces,

with their tough, empty, beady yellow eyes,

woke him from his sleep,

kicked him out of his bed when they were tired.

Women used his bed when they were broke

They took over and made their money

beside his Michael Jordan poster and his recently robbed piggy bank.

The men offered him money sometimes,

to hurry him, half-sleeping, out of the room,

He accepted, thinking he won

At age eleven, he slept on a tattered and stained couch

in a dark and dank basement, alone

except for the sounds of the welcomed intruders above,

the roaches scurrying across the floor,

and the persistent growling of his empty stomach.