Any Last Thoughts?

Was told they found you over on 36th street in Stateway.
Face down in a pool of blood.
Execution style.
Hot lead piercing the back of your skull.

They said you had taken a liking to a buzz.
Last time I laid eyes on podgy you I couldn’t deny
you had slimmed on down and barely recognized who I was.

Heard you got hooked up with the wrong dude. A thug.
Said he messed you all up on your insides.
Gave you more than a child, I surmise.

You know, sometimes I wonder…

What were your last thoughts before that merciless trigger man triggered?
Did your life, clicheically “flash before your eyes?”

If so,

I bet you were thinking about your long pony-tails in kindergarten,
and our girl scout troop,
and how we stuck our tongues out at passing cars,
while we were riding with your Granny
on the way to our church youth group.

Were you thinking about all the birthday parties at my house on Paxton Street,
and your massive collection of Right On magazine,
and how you were obsessed with Menudo and New Edition
and how you had the mumps when you were thirteen?

Were you thinking of any of those innocent little things?

Were you reflecting on all the fun we had
at Horace Mann with our other childhood friends?
I bet you wished there was a way that you could go back in time right then.

The Chicago Defender read the police found you and one of your homegirls dead.
I still remember the exact moment my mother called to tell me you were gone.
Can’t help but imagine your last thoughts revealed how terrified you were,
but I try not to dwell on that scenario at all.